





VEB ^^5 




A MINISTER’S PROBATION 


BY 

MRS. SARAH CANNON REAMON, 

»» 

Author of Tossed About f '‘^Tom Morgan's Farmf *^The Hart 
Jewels f etc. 




Nashville, Tenn.: . 

Publishing House Methodist Episcopal Church, South. 
Barbee & Smith, Agents. 

1899. 





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898, 
By Mrs. Sarah Cannon Leamon, 

In the OfRce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Dedication. 


Tjo 9^/n/s/ers, o/' Churches, 
in Countries, 
t/te foiiowin^ pa^^es are 

IRcspectfullis DeDicatcC) 

by the author, 

T^rs. tSarah Cannon jCeamon. 

( 3 ) 


I 


25913 


ONE COPV 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PjvGu 

The Baptism >j 

CHAPTER II. 

The First School 13 

CHAPTER III. 

The Corn Husking 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

The First Communion 36 

CHAPTER V. 

At College 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Country Wedding 6 i 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Commencement 73 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Call to Preach 80 

CHAPTER IX. 

Engaged 91 

CHAPTER X. 

The Theological Seminary 107 

CHAPTER XL 

The Ordination 124 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Bereavement 131 

CHAPTER XIII. 

R ESIGN ATION 146 

( 5 ) 

t 


6 A minister’s probation. 

CHAPTER XIV. • PAGE 

Missionary Work 157 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Call 166 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Married 175 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Donation Party 193 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Promoted 201 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Unwelcome Guest 214 

CHAPTER XX. 

Housekeepers 234 

CHAPTER XXL 

The Stepmother 247 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Preachers’ Children 258 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Probation Ended 267 


A MINISTER’S PROBATION. 


CHAPTER 1. 

The Baptism. 

It was the Monday following the observance of 
the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, commonly 
called “communion Sabbath,” in a little church 
on the bank of Pigeon Creek, a small stream 
which winds its way among the hills and valleys of 
Western Pennsylvania. The parishioners of that 
Presbyterian congregation were a sturdy yoeman- 
ry of Scotch-Irish descent, and, walking in the 
ways of their fathers, they adhered to a Scripture 
psalmody, and practiced close communion. 

The services began on Friday, which was a day 
of fasting and prayer, preparatory to the partaking 
of the bread and wine, emblems of the broken 
body and shed blood of our Lord and Savior, 
Jesus Christ. As was usual upon such occasions, 
the pastor was assisted by a ministerial brother, 
who fed a flock in a neighboring district, a few 
miles distant. The assistant did the most of the 
preaching, and the people of that rural commu- 
nity were glad of an opportunity for “occasional 
hearing,” though the visiting clergyman belonged 
to their own household of faith, and they did not 
consider him as able or as eloquent as their own 

( 7 ) 


8 


A minister’s probation. 


beloved pastor. Ministers were human in 1802, 
and sometimes took advantage of being away from 
home, to display the wonderful depths of their 
learning. 

Such was the case on that Monday. Mr. Lind- 
sey preached a powerful discourse from the text: 
“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a 
beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads 
and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and 
upon his heads the name of blasphemy.” The 
people listened intently, and wondered at the 
knowledge of the speaker, as he unfolded the 
sublime mysteries of the beast and seven heads 
and ten horns and ten crowns. 

At the close of the sermon the pastor rose in 
the pulpit and said: “Parents will present their 
children for baptism.” A couple seated in the 
right-hand tier of seats rose promptly, and walked 
reverently to the front; another couple seated in 
the left-hand tier, after a moment’s hesitation, 
followed them. The man of God propounded 
the usual questions, which were appropriately an- 
swered by the parents, who took upon themselves 
solemn vows to bring up their little ones in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord. With a cup 
of sparkling water from a spring, which opened 
into the creek near by, and which had decided the 
location of the church, the minister descended the 
steps, laid his dripping hand upon the head of 
the first baby, and said, “ Paul, I baptize thee in 
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 


THE BAPTISM. 


9 

the Holy Ghost, one God;” passing to the next, 
“ Phebe, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, 
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, one God. 
Amen.” 

Paul clenched his little fist, and sent up a cry, 
which showed his combative disposition, and 
gave warning that he would not be imposed upon 
with impunity; Phebe smiled as the water rolled 
down her cheeks, and pulled the preacher’s whis- 
kers while he administered the sacred rite. The 
congregation united in singing: 

“All people that on earth do dwell, 

Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice; 

Him serve with mirth, his praise forthtell, 

Come ye before him and rejoice.” 

After the singing of the Psalm the benediction 
was pronounced, and the people slowly left the 
church. It was Monday, and they embraced the 
opportunity for social chats, free from the prick- 
ings of conscience for a violation of the Sabbath. 

Mrs. Martin was standing under the protecting 
boughs of a large tree, when she was joined by 
Mrs. Fergus, who exclaimed: “Why didn’t you 
tell me you were going to get Paul baptized? We 
intended to wait until the next communion for 
Phebe, but when I saw you going up I gave him 
the wink, and we went too.” 

“ We didn’t make up our minds until last night, 
but he’s getting so big it ought to be attended to; 
he’s over a year old, but something has always 
happened to prevent it. He was sick the com- 


lO A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

munion before the last, and I was sick the last, 
and it had to be put off. I’m real glad you got 
Phebe baptized, for I hated to go up alone. Ain’t 
she a wee mite of a thing?” 

‘‘ She’s only four months old; I think she’s large 
for her age. I was ashamed of her dress. She 
wore her best yesterday. If I had thought of getting 
her baptized, I would have saved it for to-day.” 

“ Her dress is good enough, plenty good enough 
for anybody’s child, anyway; you shouldn’t think 
of her clothes,” added Mrs. Martin laughingly. 

“ O no, of course not; you never think of 
Paul’s,” replied Mrs. Fergus in the same vein; 
and then said seriously, “ I know we ought not to 
think about clothes as much as we do. Finery is 
apt to take the mind off more important things, 
but I am most sorry I got Phebe baptized in that 
old dress.” 

“ If she never has anything worse than that to 
hurt her, she’ll get through the world all right,” 
remarked Mrs. Allen, who was the social autocrat 
of the neighborhood, and the troubled mother was 
comforted. 

“Have you made your apple butter yet?” in- 
quired Mrs. Beck, whose mind generally ran upon 
domestic matters. 

“ Yes-, I made it the first of last week, and it is 
real nice, if I do say it myself,” replied Mrs. Martin. 

“ I have not made mine yet. I have been very 
busy, and the children are not well, and I could 
not get around to it,” said Mrs. Fergus. 


THE BAPTISM. 


II 


Mrs. Allen had made a little for present use, but 
not her winter’s supply. 

While the women were talking about their pre- 
serving and apple butter making, the men were 
discussing their horses and sheep, their crops, 
their present and their future prospects of harvests 
and plenty. They consulted one another about a 
teacher for the coming winter’s term of school, 
and agreed upon a day to meet and repair the 
schoolhouse, that it might be in readiness when a 
master should be selected to wield the scepter over 
the brains and backs of the fortunate urchins who 
should occupy the rude benches. 

The married women formed one group, and the 
married men another. The young women did not 
gather themselves into a circle of youth and beau- 
ty. They scattered all over the forest in which 
the church was built, as if in search of some rare 
wild flower. It was very strange, away out there 
in the country, where the people had such limited 
opportunities for learning the ways of the world, 
but near every maiden hovered a young man. If 
some mischief-loving boy, who knew entirely too 
much for his age, broke in upon a pleasant tete-a- 
tete, he was immediately sent upon some imaginary 
errand which took him out of the way for a while 
at least. 

The children had a good time. They played 
games under the very eaves of the church. Boys 
and girls jostled each other as if they were made 
of common clay. 


12 A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

At last some energetic farmer hunted up his wife 
and exclaimed: “ Maria, ain’t you never going to 
be ready to start home ? ” 

“ I’m ready whenever you be,” was the submis- 
sive reply of the woman, who had been early 
taught the meaning of the vows which she had 
taken upon herself to “love, honor, and obey.” 
Others followed the example, and soon the entire 
congregation was homeward bound. Those who 
lived near walked, while some were on horseback. 
Others were in the farm wagon, which often gave 
a “lift” to the less fortunate who had no such 
conveyance. Carriages were unknown in those 
days in that community, but somehow everybody 
except the sick managed to get to church. Aunt 
Hannah Allen, who resided with her brother, was 
afflicted with the rheumatism to such an extent that 
she was obliged to remain at home. She was sit- 
ting in her old armchair on the porch when the 
family returned, trying to be patient under her af- 
flictions, and also trying to realize that it w'as bet- 
ter for her to be there than in the courts of the 
sanctuary, which she loved. 

“ How did you get along? ” inquired her sister- 
in-law as she reached the steps. 

“ O, all right, a little lonesome. Who was bap- 
tized to-day ? ” 

Mrs. Allen answered as she vanished within the 
door: “Nobody but Paul Martin and Phebe 
Fergus.” 


CHAPTER 11. 

The First School. 

“Are you going to start Phebe to school next 
week?’’ inquired Mr. Beck, who was a member 
of the committee that had been appointed at a 
school meeting to gather up the children, that they 
might have a good school. 

“ No, she is too small, she is only five years old; 
she cannot go.” 

“What is there to hinder her from going? I 
am around seeing what can be done. The mas- 
ter is pretty independent, and wants a dollar a 
day. It is pretty high wages, but he is a good 
schoolmaster, and I suppose he can get it in other 
places, and as there is not many of us, we will 
have to put our hands to the plow if we raise it. 
Phebe is a good girl and will not need much cor- 
rection, and being she is all you have to send since 
James died, you ought to feel it your duty to help 
along and send her.” 

“ That is the trouble; she has no older brother 
or sister to go with her and take care of her; she 
cannot go alone, that is certain.” 

“ She will not have to. Jane Martin goes past 
here, and she will think nothing of stopping for 
her. Paul is going, and he is about Phebe’s age. 
Shall I put her name down?” 


( 13 ) 


14 A minister’s probation. 

“ I don’t know. Paul is older than Phebe, and 
he is stronger. What do you say? ” and Mrs. Fer- 
gus glanced toward her husband. 

“ O, let her go; it will not cost much, and she 
will be safe enough. I will speak to the master 
and tell him not to be too hard on her. Weller 
makes a good master, and we must support him.” 

Mr. Beck wrote the name, Phebe Fergus, and, 
after talking a few minutes about the hard times 
and the news of the day, he hurried on to swell 
the list of scholars for the school, which was to be- 
gin the next Monday, and was to be presided over 
by Abraham Weller, the ablest master in all the 
community, if the requisite one dollar a day and 
a reasonable number of pupils could be secured. 
The teacher did not want to be paid for services 
that were not rendered, hence it was as important 
to have the children in attendance as it was to pro- 
vide the money for the salary. The opening day 
dawned auspiciously. The sun shone brightly 
and the birds sang sweetly as they flew among the 
trees and talked to each other in bird language of., 
all those wonderful children, who came uninvited 
so suddenly into their midst. They were so thank- 
ful to the God of the birds that it was in autumn, 
and their birdlings were all out of their nests, that 
neither their eggs nor their children were in dan- 
ger at the hands of the rude, bad boys, who 
climbed the trees and stole the empty, deserted 
homes, where the little ones had been sheltered by 
motherly wings until able to fly and care for 


THE FIRST SCHOOL. 


15 

themselves. The master appeared early upon the 
scene, armed with a Bible, an arithmetic, a bun- 
dle of goose quills, a ruler, and a strap. The ad- 
vanced pupils were equipped with an arithmetic, 
a copybook, and a Bible, to be used as a text-book 
in reading. Once in a while an ambitious boy as- 
pired to the study of grammar. Such were re- 
garded with awe, and looked up to with a rever- 
ence just a degree less than that given to the mas- 
ter himself. The intermediate grade read in the 
Testament, and studied the spelling book and the 
first part of the arithmetic. Some of the primary 
grade possessed rude primers with flaming pictures. 
Others were provided with a piece of a board, 
shaped like a paddle, on which the master obli- 
gingly printed the alphabet with a piece of charcoal 
taken from the open fireplace, which was proba- 
bly left at the close of the preceding term, for the 
convenience of the next teacher. They called it 
a subscription school, and not many of them had 
much knowledge of any other kind. It was vir- 
tually a graded school, since there were three dis- 
tinct grades, consisting of the a-b-c class, the Tes- 
tament class, and the Bible class. It was as much 
an event to them to be promoted from one of those 
classes into the next higher as it is now to be pro- 
moted from one grade into another in the best 
schools in our cities. 

When the time arrived to commence the work 
of the day the master rapped on the window with 
his ruler, which was made partly for that purpose. 


i6 A minister’s probation. 

The scholars filed in and took -their places with- 
out ceremony, the back seats being used by com- 
mon consent by the larger pupils. Quiet having 
been secured, the master advanced to his desk and 
took up the subscription paper, which had been 
furnished him. ‘‘Answer to your names,” he 
commanded, without any preliminary remarks. 
“John Smith.” 

“ Present.” 

“ Mary Beck.” 

“ Present.” 

“ Samuel Beck.” 

“ Present.” 

“ Jane Martin.” 

“ Present.” 

“ Paul Martin.” 

“ Present.” 

“ Phebe Fergus.” 

No answer. 

“ Where is Phebe Fergus? ” and Weller turned 
to the school with an inquiring look. 

“ Over there, sir,” replied one of the larger girls.- 

“ Phebe Fergus.” 

Silence. 

“ Phebe Fergus, come up here,” ordered the 
irate master, with darkening brow. 

Some one gave her a push and motioned toward 
the teacher’s desk. She advanced slowly, and 
stood trembling with terror before the strong man 
who awaited her, ruler in hand. 

“ Did you hear me call your name? ” 


THE FIRST SCHOOL. 


17 


‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“ Did you answer?” 

“ No, sir.” 

Weller was too angry to speak. He looked 
down in amazement on the trembling, sobbing 
little specimen of humanity who defied him to his 
face. He gathered strength for a glorious victory, 
and, grasping her tiny hand in his huge, hard one, 
he raised his ruler over her shrinking shoulders, 
as he exclaimed: “You will answer next time.” 

‘ ‘ Master ! master ! ’ ’ 

Weller paused, as Paul Martin bounded to the 
side of Phebe and shouted: “She never went to 
school before; she don’t know to say ‘Present;’ 
she don’t know nothing.” 

“ O, is that it? yes, yes,” replied the enlight- 
ened and relieved teacher. “Did you ever go to 
school before ? ” 

“No, sir.” 

“ How did you know to say ‘ Present ? ’ ” 

“Jane, she told me when you said, ‘Paul Mar- 
tin,’ for me to say ‘Present.’ Jim Fergus is dead, 
and there was nobody to tell Phebe.” 

“Yes, yes,” mused the master. “Glad you 
told me; now go to your seats, and, little girl, 
when I call your name, say ‘ Present,’ will you?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Weller picked up the paper, which he had laid on 
his desk. “ Phebe Fergus.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What? Phebe Fergus.” 

2 


1 8 A minister’s probation. 

“ Present,” prompted a larger girl on the seat 
behind her. 

“Present,” faintly echoed Phebe. 

“Stop that whispering!” thundered Weller. 
“Phebe, you are awful hard to learn, but you have 
got it at last. It takes patience in my business;” 
and, glancing complacently at the older pupils, he 
proceeded to finish calling the roll. When through 
with that important part of the programme, he faced 
his school and gave directions in regard to their 
work. “ The Bible class will take the first chap- 
ter in Genesis, and the Testament class will 
take the first chapter of Matthew; the first spell- 
ing class will take the first two lines on the tenth 
page; and the second spelling class will take the 
first two lines on the thirtieth page. All that want to 
study arithmetic will bring your books up to me, 
and I will show you your lessons.” 

A few advanced with conscious pride, book in 
hand, and were speedily placed in classes of twos 
and threes, according to their several attainments. 

Soon the usual hum of the schoolroom of that 
day was heard — “ B-a-ba-k-e-r-ker-baker ; ” 
“ A-d-ad-a-ada-m-a-n-t-mant— adamant;” “And 
God called the firmanent, heaven;” “And Aram 
begat Aminadab, and Aminadab begat; I can’t 
read but three verses” — all at once in a steady 
monotone, that rejoiced the heart of the master, 
as he looked with pride upon his studious pupils, 
without a thought of the noise and confusion, that 
amounted almost to an uproar. Consulting his 


THE FIRST SCHOOL. 


19 


timepiece, he announced, “It is time to say your 
lessons. I will begin with the little ones. Where 
is that little Fergus girl?” 

“ Here she is, sir,” said Mary Beck. 

“ Come on.” 

“ Go and say your lesson,” whispered Mary en- 
couragingly. 

“ Stop that whispering! I am competent to tell 
the child what is expected of her, without any out- 
side assistance.” 

Phebe went up to the master, of whom she was 
in deadly fear. 

“ Do you know your letters? ” 

“No, sir,” 

“ Well, you are here to learn. Is this your 
book?” 

“Yes, sir. It’s tore,” she added deprecatingly. 

“It does very well; it is all here,” replied Wel- 
ler graciously. 

It began to dawn upon his sharpened intellect 
that the child was afraid of him. That was all 
very well, for he wanted his scholars to be afraid 
of him, but he did not want to frighten a little girl 
out of her wits the first day; furthermore, he 
wanted the moral and the pecuniary support of 
her father, as well as the good opinion of his 
school. 

‘^I have forgotten your name. What is it? ” 

“ Phebe,” she replied timidly. 

“Well, Phebe, you must not be afraid of me. I 
will not bite you. Speak up. Would you like 


20 A minister’s PROBATION. 

to have some nice little boy say his lesson with 
you?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Weller chuckled as he inquired: “Where is 
that boy that never went to school? ” 

“ It is Paul Martin; here he is.” 

“ Paul, come here. Do you know your letters?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Well, you and Phebe may make a team. 
You can both look on the same book. That is A. 
Say it.” 

“ A,” in duet. 

“B.” 

“ B,” in duet. 

“ C.” 

“ C,” in duet. 

“ Say it over again.” 

“ Say it over again,” in duet. 

Some of the larger pupils made an unsuccessful 
effort to suppress a laugh. 

“ Order! order! what are you about? Are you 
not ashamed to be laughing at little children, whose 
minds are just opening to receive the first lessons 
of instruction?” and the instructor grew eloquent 
over the greatness of their misdemeanor. 

“ There, you may go to your seats now, and be 
quiet until I call you next time.” 

And so it came about that Paul Martin and Phebe 
Fergus constituted the first division of the a-b-c 
class. 

A routine of study and recitation was established 


the first school. 


21 


and gone through with. There was not much 
system, but Weller was a good teacher, and he 
started out with the determination to do his best. 
He pronounced the hard words in the reading les- 
sons, and worked the hard sums in the arithmetic. 

On the evening of that memorable first day Mrs. 
Fergus was astonished when her gentle, meek lit- 
tle Phebe climbed upon her lap, and amid tears 
and sobs said: “I don’t like to go to school; I 
don’t like the master; he most whipped me. Don’t 
make me go any more.” 

David Fergus and his wife always went hand in 
hand. They took counsel with each other, and 
after obtaining all the facts in the case, from Phebe 
and from the Martin children, who stopped for 
her the next morning, they decided that it would 
not be best for their little girl to have her own way. 
Obedience was the first law in their parental gov- 
ernment. She was rather young to go to school, 
but, having enrolled her as a pupil, and having 
started her, it would not do to permit her to stop. 
Her repugnance to school and to the master must 
be overcome, and now was the accepted time. 

“ I intended to speak to Weller before school 
commenced, but I did not have a chance. I sup- 
pose it would hardly do just now. He might think 
it was interfering with his business. Send her 
along; I expect she will come out all right;” and 
David went to his work, not altogether easy as to 
the outcome of his premature attempt to educate 
his little daughter. 


22 


A minister’s probation. 


“ I don’t want to go,” moaned Phebe. 

“ O, but you must go,” said her mother, per- 
suadingly. “ Don’tyouwanttolearnyoura-b-c’s?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“ Don’t you like to play ‘ Black-man’, and ‘Pus- 
sy’ wants a corner’ at noon?” 

“ I don’t want to go, ’’she persisted. 

“ I don’t want to whip you,” replied her mother. 

“ Come on,” coaxed Jane Martin. “ You will 
like it better when you get used to it.” 

“ ril make old Weller keep his hands off you,” 
added Paul. 

Phebe yielded to the children’s entreaties, be- 
cause she feared her mother’s displeasure, and 
started to school feeling that all the world was 
against her. After she had entered her protest, 
and it had been set aside, she knew nothing else 
but to obey. It was quite a long walk to the school- 
house, and as they were late starting, and did not 
hurry, they found that school had opened. They 
entered timidly. 

“ What made you so late? Did you play on th-e 
road? ” inquired the master. 

“ No, sir; we were waiting for Phebe. Mother 
said for us to stop for her, and she didn’t want to 
come, and we had to wait until her mother made 
her,” explained Jane. 

Weller was endowed with plenty of horse sense, 
and understood the situation in a moment. “Did 
not want to come to school?” he exclaimed, 
in well-feigned surprise. “We could not get 


The Tirst school. 


along without her. I was just waiting to call the 
first class in the a-b-c’s. Come and let us see how 
much you remember.” 

The lesson was a repetition of the last one, with 
a few additions and slight variations. The mas- 
ter gave Phebe a paddle, which he had probably 
prepared for some one else, and told her to take it 
home with her and show it to her mother, and be 
sure and be able to tell her which was O and 
which was P, that stood for Phebe. At noon he 
gave her a large red apple, and remarked to the 
rest of the pupils that they must not think that he 
was partial to Phebe ; but she was very young to 
come to school, and they must all try to make it 
pleasant for her. 

Phebe overcame her fear of him, and schoolmas- 
ter Weller learned an important lesson, that day, 
which was not in any of their books, but which 
served him many a useful purpose thereafter. 

Time dragged its slow length along, and when 
school neared the close of the term it was decid- 
ed to have a “last day.” That meant that the 
children would all wear their best clothes, and that 
the parents would be present, and some of the best 
educated among them would give out sums to the 
arithmetic scholars and hard words to the spell- 
ing classes. When they had made a sufficient dis- 
play of their attainments, speeches would be made 
to them, in which they would be told how smart 
they were, and how much better their advantages 
were than those enjoyed by their parents. At the 


24 A MINISTER'S PROBATION* 

appointed time all that was gone through with, to 
the edification of all present. 

Paul Martin spelled loud and long, and finally 
went down when he forgot, and said, “ s-m-o-a-k 
smoke.” Phebe Fergus recited her verse in a 
clear, pure tone: “ Blessed are merciful: for they 
shall obtain mercy.” Everybody wondered at 
their proficiency, and smiled their approbation. 
The advanced pupils solved problems in the rule 
of three that were considered posers. The pars- 
ing of the two boys who studied grammar was one 
of the wonders of the day. The master made a 
speech, in which he told them how much they had 
learned, and liow much they had yet to learn. 

The committee were then called upon, and when 
they had exhausted their eloquence the common 
fathers had a chance to sa}^ a few words. Every- 
thing was harmonious, and all agreed that they had 
had a good school, and that it had been presided 
over by a worthy, upright, competent master. 

A subscription paper was prepared, and Mr. Fer^, 
gus was requested to pass among the people and 
get as many signatures for the next term as he 
could. He had no trouble in making up a respect- 
able list. When the show was dismissed an in- 
quisitive old lady laughingly asked Master Weller 
which one of his scholars had learned most during 
the term. Unhesitatingly he replied: “All have 
done well, especially the little ones. No one has 
done better than the two youngest, Paul Martin 
and Phebe Fergus.” 


CHAPTER III. 

The Corn Husking. 

The amusements in those early days generally 
combined pleasure and utility. When the young 
people met together by appointment, it was at a 
quilting, a wood chopping, an apple butter stirring, 
or a corn husking. Sometimes two of those im- 
portant affairs were united, and such was the case 
at Carson’s corn husking. The girls were all in- 
vited to be present at one o’clock, with needle and 
thimble, to quilt a star quilt, of blue and white cot- 
ton goods, which Mrs. Carson had taken great 
pains in piecing, and which elicited the admiration 
of all that beheld it. They went with nimble fin- 
gers and equally nimble tongues. They talked of 
the cows they milked and the butter they churned. 
They talked of the flax they spun and of the linen 
they wove. They talked and quilted, and quilted 
and talked. They talked about their preacher and 
they talked about his wife. They did not say any 
harm of either of them, but they talked. They 
talked about their sewing and the number of quilts 
they had pieced. They talked of their knitting 
and the number of pairs of stockings they had knit. 
When they had exhausted every imaginable sub- 
ject, and could think of nothing else to talk about, 
they talked about the boys. 


( 25 ) 


26 


A minister’s probation. 


“ I wonder if George Jones will be here?” in- 
quired Martha Roberts. 

“La me! how should we know? I was just 
going to ask you. If you do not know, you can- 
not expect us to know,” replid Ellen White. 

Then all the girls giggled, just exactly like a 
modern set of giggling girls, when similar laugh- 
ing remarks are made, which are supposed to mean 
much more than they do. 

“Will Paul Martin be here?” asked Mary 
Davis. 

“You will have to ask Phebe Fergus about 
that,” was the teasing reply. 

“Phebe Fergus? I did not know that he ever 
went with her. When did he become her proper- 
ty, I should like to know? ” 

“ He is not my property,” retorted Phebe. 

“You need not fly off the handle about it; I 
am sure T do not know anybody that cares if he 
is. I had not heard it, that is all,” said Mary 
sweetly. 

“You have not heard it yet, and never will,” 
and Phebe seized the scissors and snapped off an 
unoffending thread, as if she felt a moral antipathy 
toward it. 

“ Girls, quit your fighting about your beaus. 
Think about your work. I want that quilt out of 
the frames in time to set the table for supper ; ’ ’ and 
Mrs. Carson, with assumed seriousness, shook her 
head at the culprits through the door, which 
opened into the kitchen. 


THE CORN HUSKING. 


27 


The girls all blushed, and every one of them de- 
clared that she had not opened her lips to say a 
word for more than half an hour. Good nature 
was restored, the needles flew, and the quilt was 
finished and taken from the frames in ample time. 

A plain, well-cooked, substantial supper fol- 
lowed, which was eaten with zest by the hungry, 
happy maidens, whose appetites were whetted by 
faithful work, well done. 

Mr. Carson asked a blessing upon the food at 
the beginning of the meal, and returned thanks at 
its close. 

Every girl there volunteered to help wash the 
dishes. Their standing in society depended a 
great deal upon their reputation for industry. A 
girl who sat around unconcerned, while some one 
else did the work, was but little respected, and 
was treated accordingly. Their training had been 
such that nearly every one of them loved work, 
and enjoyed doing it. If any one did not, it was 
to her interest to assume the virtue that did not 
come natural to her. 

When the dishes were all washed, and things 
put in their proper places, the girls began to primp. 
Soap and water, combs and brushes, were in de- 
mand. Their work was done, and the boys were 
gathering at the barn. Tallow candles placed in 
excavated pumpkins afforded light. The girls were 
not expected to husk corn after quilting all the aft- 
ernoon, but they would have to go out to the barn, 
once in a while, to see how the work was progress- 


28 


A minister’s probation. 


ing, and it was necessary that they should look 
sweet and neat. 

When the corn was all husked the fun would 
begin. How those young men worked. The 
knowledge that their sisters and their neighbors’ 
sisters were waiting for them may have helped 
them. There was no prince nor princess at that 
corn husking. Every fellow fortunate enough to 
get a red ear was expected and almost required to 
kiss the girl that he considered the prettiest of the 
company. The obliging farmer saw to it before- 
hand that there was a sprinkling of red ears in the 
pile of corn on the barn floor. George Jones was 
the first to find the coveted prize 

“ Hurrah for George ! ” 

“Lend it to me I ” 

“ What will you take for it?” 

“Where is your girl?” 

Such were the good-natured exclamations that 
greeted him as he got up and brushed the husks 
from his clothes. 

“ His girl,” was evidently not among the bevy in 
the barn, for he made a bee line for the house, 
where some of the party were setting the table for 
supper, when the corn should be finished. Phebe 
Fergus was out in the kitchen piling doughnuts on 
a plate. 

The boys from the barn crowded into the 
room eager to see the fun, while George glanced 
around, looking for his girl. He saw her, and, 
without a word of warning, he rushed into the 


THE CORN HUSKING. 29 

kitchen, and, throwing his arms around Phebe, 
gave her a resounding smack. 

“ George Jones ! ” 

“ Phebe Fergus !” 

“Ain’t you ashamed?” 

“ No, I ain’t.” 

“You must be crazy ! ” 

Phebe struggled to free herself from his detaining 
clasp. Everybody was looking on, and no one 
thought that there was the least impropriety in the 
embrace, because the fortunate youth had a red ear. 

The boys returned to the barn and went to work 
with renewed energy, as if to make up for the time 
that had been lost, while the girls stood in speech- 
less amazement. 

“ Well, I never! ” exclaimed Mrs. Carson. 

“Little Phebe Fergus! Who would have 
thought it? ” said Jane Martin. 

“ Did you ever have a beau before?” 

“I haven’t one yet.” 

“ She’s a setting out,” sneered Martha Roberts. 

“She is not, either; you are just mad because 
he didn’t kiss you. Fight it out with him, and 
don’t take your spite out on poor Phebe,” was the 
admonition of Ellen White, as the most of them 
started off to reconnoiter in the vicinity of the barn. 
A couple went for a basket of apples, and another 
couple went for a crock of milk. Mrs. Carson 
was left alone with Phebe, and she used her op- 
portunity. “La, Phebe, I was surprised. How 
old are you?” 


30 


A minister’s probation. 


“ Fifteen.’’ 

“Are you? You do not look that old. Did 
George Jones ever pay you any attention before ? ” 

“ No, he didn’t.” 

“ Do you like him?” 

“ I would like him well enough, if he would 
behave himself.” 

“ He does behave himself,” replied Mrs. Car- 
son laughingly; “every boy kisses a girl when 
he finds a red ear. It would be considered queer 
if he did not. I am surprised, though, that he 
chose you.” 

“ So am I.” 

“Why?” 

“ Why are you? ” 

“0,1 hardly know. You are such a little tad of 
a creature, and have never been out much. Why 
do you not go more? ” 

“ I have no one to go with me. It is one of the 
advantages of being the oldest child.” 

“ How are you going to get home to-night? ” 

“ Jane Martin is going past our house.” 

“ She will be likely to have company of her own . 
George Jones will be sure to ask you to let him 
take you home. Let him go, and then you will 
be out of Jane’s way.” 

“ Nobody ever took me home from any place 
in my life.” 

“You will never learn younger. You had bet- 
ter go with George than tag on with Jane and her 
be 9 .u. Two is company, and three is one over,” 


THE CORN HUSKING. 


31 


“ I do not intend to tag on with anybody.” 

“Of course not. I would invite you to stay all 
night, but I know that your mother would be un- 
easy about you. It is not right for young people 
to stay away from home overnight, unless their 
parents know that they are going to.” 

“ I would not stay for anything. Mother would 
be frightened to death. I will get home some way. 
I am not afraid to go alone.” 

“No, nothing would hurt you; but it would not 
look well, and you might become afraid on the 
way. Just wait, and we will see;” and Mrs. Car- 
son smiled quietly at the girl’s evident distress. 

A shout at the barn heralded the news that an- 
other red ear had come to light. All rushed to 
the scene, and got there just in time to see a stal- 
wart youth clasp Ellen White to his manly bosom 
as he imprinted the conventional kiss upon her 
rosy lips, and to hear her exclaim:” Quit that, 
Hugh Scott! ” 

Obedient Hugh quit, and again work was re- 
sumed. The piles of corn rapidly grew larger. 
Many willing hands made quick work. While the 
fodder was stored away for rough feed the com- 
ing winter, some of the buskers carried the corn to 
the crib, that was ready to receive it. Shout after 
shout went up as one red ear after another was 
discovered. When Fred Berry found a little red 
nubbin, and claimed his reward from the hands, 
or rather from the lips, of Jane Martin, the cour- 
age of Phebe Fergus sunk to zero. He would go 


32 A minister’s probation. 

home with Jane, and Phebe’s momentous ques- 
tion was, Had she better tag on with them, or ac- 
cept the escort of George Jones? 

“There, there, boys; that will do; you have 
done a good job; never mind the scraps, let us go 
and see if we cannot find something for the inner 
man,” said the cheery Mr. Carson, as some of 
them were gathering up the few remaining stalks, 
more for the purpose of clearing up the floor than 
for the sake of the corn. 

He led the way to the house, followed by the 
jolly buskers, each of whom meant to claim a 
girl, red ear or no red ear. 

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” 

The deafening cheers reached the house, but 
the women did not have as many nerves in those 
days as their granddaughters have now. They 
were not disturbed. They simply waited. They 
all waited patiently, and some of them expectantly. 

A half dozen schoolboys came bounding in at 
the back door, with Paul Martin in the lead. 
“Pve got it! Pve got it! ” he shouted. 

No one asked what he had got, but they stepped 
aside and made room for him as he passed through 
the house out into the front yard. He slipped up 
behind Phebe Fergus, and kissed her with all the 
enthusiasm of boyhood, before she had time to re- 
sent the impudence. 

“ Let me be ! ” 

“ Get out of the way; Phebe is my girl,” said 
George Jones, 


THE CORN HUSKING. 


33 


“ She is as much mine as yours. I found a red 
ear, fair and square, and had as much right to 
kiss her as you had,” replied Paul with spirit. 

“ Hail, Columbia, happy land, the greenie,” 
exclaimed George indulgently. 

“ Phebe’s popular,” laughed one of the girls. 

Phebe burst into tears. 

“ Hello! what’s up?” inquired Mr. Carson, as 
he came upon the group. 

“ Paul Martin kissed Phebe, and George Jones 
put in his say, and she is crying because she can- 
not have both of them,” was the eager explanation. 

“This will never do, Paul. Can’t you find a 
girl of your own?” 

“I found Phebe.” 

“Yes, but George got her first. You must 
never take another fellow’s girl. You know the 
good book says: ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ ” 

“I thought you could kiss anybody you wanted 
to,” replied sixteen-year-old Paul, rather abashed. 

After a general laugh at his expense, all went 
into the house and attacked the late supper which 
had been prepared for them. 

Then came the “frolic,” as they called it. Old- 
fashioned country sports, such as “blindman’s 
buff” and “the button,” were the exciting games 
in which they indulged. 

Talk about the city late hours ! It was an early 
hour in the morning when those country youths 
and maidens wended their steps in the direction 
of the parental domiciles. 

3 


34 


A minister’s probation. 


Before starting each young man secured the 
company of a young woman for the homeward 
walk, those who had found the red ears always se- 
lecting the girls whom they had kissed. 

In accordance with that eminently wise and 
proper custom, George Jones sought Phebe and 
said: “May I have the honor of seeing you safe 
home?” 

“O George, I would rather you would not. 
Mother would not like it. She told me to be sure 
to go home with Jane Martin. She never would 
let me go any place again.” 

“All right,” replied the accommodating young 
man, “ I do not want to make you any trouble; ” 
and he turned away hastily, that no one might 
know that he had been given the “mitten.” 

He soon found that Martha Roberts was not afraid 
of her mother, and so readily accepted his escort. 

Fred Berry and Jane Martin had just gone out 
of the door, when Phebe exclaimed: “Where is 
Jane?” 

“ She is gone.” 

“ Without me? ’ 

“ It seems so.” 

“O dear, I asked her, and she said she would 
be glad to have me. I did not think that she 
would go off and leave me after that.” 

She tried to conceal her distress as she hesi- 
tated what to do. 

“Do you want to go with her?” whispered Paul 
to George, 


THE CORN HUSKING. 


35 


“No, I am going with Martha Roberts.” 

Paul had never taken a girl anywhere in his 
life, but he plucked up courage and said: “ Come 
on, Phebe; I’ll see you through the woods.” 

There was nothing else for her, so she reluc- 
tantly went with the boy whose sister had mis- 
chievously left her, for the accommodation, as she 
supposed, of George Jones. 

When Ellen White reached home, before re- 
tiring to rest, she opened an inside door and said: 
“Mother, mother, are you awake? What do 
you think? Paul Martin went home with Phebe 
Fergus.’’ 


CHAPTER IV. 

The First Communion. 

“ On two weeks from next Sabbath we will have 
our spring communion. The Rev. James McMil- 
lan is expected to assist. All persons wishing 
to unite with the Church on that occasion will 
meet the session the Saturday previous at twelve 
o’clock.” 

Such was the announcement made by the Rev. 
Dr. Taggart, the pastor of Pigeon Creek Presby- 
terian Church, a few months after Carson’s corn 
husking. The winter had been prolific of results. 
There had been other corn huskings and singings 
and spelling matches and rural amusements to the 
hearts’ content of the young people who projected 
them, attended them, and made them a success. 
Much had been accomplished. Many bushels of 
corn had been husked, and many cords of wood 
had been chopped. Many hard words had been 
spelled, and the congregational singing had been 
greatly improved. The young people had been 
instructed and entertained. Boys and girls of six- 
teen were glancing eagerly toward the future. 
Many of them were thinking seriously of their 
eternal interests. Parents were faithful, and care- 
fully instructed their children in the Bible, the 
Catechism, and the Confession of Faith. They 
( 36 ) 


THE FIRST COMMUNION. 


37 


were instructed as they should have been, in the 
peculiar doctrines of the Church in which they 
were reared. Not much was said about conver- 
sion, for their religion was one of belief and ac- 
tion, rather than feeling. 

The Sabbath preceding the communion was 
called “preparation Sabbath,” and Dr. Taggart 
preached a long and able sermon from the words; 
“ I am the living bread, which came down from 
heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live 
forever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, 
which I will give for the life of the world.” 

It was an orthodox sermon, Christ the Bread of 
Life. The people were fed and strengthened. It 
was a fitting prelude to the solemnities of the com- 
ing Sabbath, and it was discussed more or less 
around every hearthstone, when, as was usual, the 
questions were asked, which consisted in a for- 
mal recitation of the Shorter Catechism. The 
head of the house invariably asked the questions 
just before family worship every Sabbath evening. 

The mother generally took her turn with the 
children in answering, and guests who remained 
over the Sabbath did not escape. In the humble 
abode of Joseph Martin the question “What is 
required to the worthy receiving of the Lord’s 
Supper?” fell to Paul. 

“It is required of them that would worthily par- 
take of the Lord’s Supper, that they examine them- 
selves, of their knowledge to discern the Lord’s 
body, of their faith to feed upon him, of their re- 


38 A minister's probation. 

pentance, love, and new obedience; lest, coming 
unworthily, they eat and drink judgment to them- 
selves.” 

‘ ‘ What is prayer ? ’ ’ 

‘‘ Father, before you go on, I would like to ask 
you a little about my question,” stammered Paul. 

Mr. Martin was startled, and it would have been 
difficult to have told which was the more embar- 
rassed. 

“Yes, certainly, to be sure. Hadn’t we better 
finish the questions and have worship, and let the 
youngsters get to bed, and then we can talk it 
over ? ’ ’ 

“ I expect we had.” 

After the younger children were all snugly in 
bed, Mr. Martin returned to the subject by asking: 
“ What is it, Paul, that you wanted to ask about?” 

“ I am not sure that it is of any great importance. 
The question that I wanted to ask is : If so much 
is required of those who belong to the Church, is 
it not about as well to stay out, and run no risk 
of eating and drinking judgment to ourselves? ” 

“ No. Out of the Church you run the risk of 
hell and damnation.” 

“Is no one saved but Church members?” 

“ I did not say that. It is not for me, a worm 
of the dust, to limit the grace of God. We have 
Scripture authority for saying that there is no salva- 
tion out of Christ. If a man is in Christ, he has a 
right to be, and ought to be, in the Church.” 

“ But if he is not fit to belong? ” 


THE FIRST COMMUNION. 39 

“ No man is fit to go to heaven who is not fit to 
go to the communion table.’’ 

“Am I fit for either? ” 

“I declare, Paul, I do not know. I did not 
know you were thinking of those things. It is a 
question for yourself to decide, you and your 
God.” 

“ I think I know enough — that is, I think I can 
answer all the questions they will be likely to put 
to me — but I am not sure that I am good enough.” 

“ It is a solemn thing, Paul, a solemn thing.” 

“Yes, I know it is. It may be that I had better 
wait awhile.” 

“ Do you believe? ” 

“I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, 
and that he died to save sinners.” 

“ Do you believe that he died to save you?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Joseph Martin was greatly moved. He rose to 
his feet, and laid his hand upon his son’s head as 
he said: “ Paul, if I were you, I would go before 
the session Saturday.” 

“I am thinking about it,” replied Paul. 

A soul was struggling in the throes of the sec- 
ond birth. All that night Paul lay awake think- 
ing. His thoughts were of God, of his Son, of 
the cross on Calvary, and of the eternal life that 
had been made possible for him by that awful 
tragedy. Life and death were set before him, and 
he chose that good part which would never be 
taken from him. 


40 


A minister's probation. 


In the morning he sought an opportunity and 
said: “Father, I have decided to go before the 
session.” 

“That is right. Take the vows of God upon 
you. Walk in the ways of the Lord all the days 
of your life, and you shall dwell in the house of 
the Lord forever. 

On Saturday morning every one in the congre- 
gation got up earlier than usual. Friday had been 
religiously observed as a fast day. The public 
services were to begin on Saturday at one o’clock, 
which necessitated an early dinner, and there was 
more than the usual amount of other work to do 
in most households. 

Mrs. Fergus was not in very good health, and 
she suggested that Phebe remain at home and at- 
tend to the domestic affairs, so that there would be 
no need of bustle or hurry, which always so upset 
her that she could not enjoy the sermon when she 
reached the church. 

“You will not mind staying; will you, Phebe?” 

“ No, I suppose not,” hesitatingly. 

“ I thought you would not care, being you are 
not a member; but if you do, say so.” 

“I do not mind staying, mother, but I have 
wanted to tell you, I would like to — I would like 
to”— 

“ What would you like, child? ” 

“I would like to join the Church.” 

“ Why, Phebe! Phebe, I am surprised. Do you 
feel prepared ? ” 


THE FIRST COMMUNION. 


41 


“ I hope so, I have thought about it for a good 
while. It may be that we cannot get there in time, 
there is so much to do.” 

“ O yes, we can. If you feel it your duty, you 
can go ; the work can wait. The session meets at 
twelve o’clock. We will not have any regular 
dinner; we will just take a piece before we start, 
and that will save time.” 

“You need not all go so early. I can walk,” 

“ I do not like to hear you talk that way, Phebe. 
Do you think we begrudge going an hour early 
when you want to join the Church? ” 

“No, mother; I know you do not, but there 
is so much to do, I am afraid we can not get 
ready.” 

“ Are your clothes all in good order? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Is there anything new you need? ” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“Nevermind the baking. You had better go 
into the room and look over your questions a little, 
and the Confession of Faith; they might ask you 
something on that.” 

“ Mother, I know the Catechism backward. I 
would rather help you with the work than to have 
you all tired out.” 

' “You were always a good girl, so thoughtful. I 
am glad you are coming into the household of 
faith.” 

Mr. Fergus came into the kitchen, searching 
for some nails to repair a gate. 


4^ A minister's probation. 

“ Can we get off an hour early, father? Phebe 
wants to go before the session.” 

“ Phebe?” 

“ Yes, Phebe. She is young, but not too young 
to know what she is about. She offered to walk 
to the church, but it is so far we must not let her 
think of that.” 

‘‘No, no, of course not; the boys can help you 
women with the work; I will send Andy in right 
away to do the churning.” 

“ It is putting you all to trouble,” remonstrated 
Phebe. 

“No, it is not. I like that kind of trouble. I 
am glad to see you taking this step. The work is 
no consideration. ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of 
God, and his righteousness; and all these things 
shall be added unto you.’ ” 

David Fergus mended the gate with a happy 
heart. He oiled the wagon, and harnessed the 
horses long before the time for starting. He felt it 
his duty to talk to Phebe ; but, not quite knowing 
what to sa}^ he contented himself with neglecting 
his own work and helping in the house, that they 
might all get off without any one being flustrated 
When they arrived at the church, he went in with 
Phebe and explained the situation to the pastor, 
who was the only one who had reached the place 
before themselves. He quietly withdrew, and with 
his wife made a short call on an old man, who 
lived but a stone’s throw from the church, and 
who was so crippled from a fall that he could 


THE FIRST COMMUNION. 


43 


scarcely walk. The two boys strolled through 
the forest, glad that their sister was identifying 
herself with the people of God. 

Sabbath morning dawned clear and calm. It 
was the first Sabbath in May, and, as usual upon 
such occasions, the services were held in the grove. 
The Rev. James McMillan preached from the 
text: “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, 
will draw all men unto me.” 

At the close of the discourse there was an in- 
termission of half an hour, after which the people 
gathered together to celebrate the great feast. 
The pastor “fenced the table.” He rehearsed 
the Commandments one after another in regular 
order, and excluded from the privileges of the Sup- 
per all who had violated any one of them. It 
was a season of rigid self-examination. Small 
pieces of lead, called “ tokens,” had been pre- 
viously given to all the members of the church, in 
good and regular standing, who had applied to the 
pastor or any of the elders for them. They were 
also given to members of sister congregations who 
were present, if they were properly vouched for. 
In addition to those precautions, the elders stood 
at the entrance to the table, that no improper per- 
son might approach. When everything was ready 
the pastor announced: “ Those who have received 
tokens will now come forward, with humility and 
prayer, to the table of the Lord, and show forth 
his death till he come.” A procession marched 
in, single file, father, mother, then the children in 


44 A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

the order of their ages. When all were seated, 
and the tokens were collected, they were addressed 
on the nature and design of the ordinance they 
were about to celebrate. After that the minister 
took the bread, and said: “That same night in 
which he was betrayed, our blessed Lord and Sav- 
ior, Jesus Christ, took bread and blessed it, and 
brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said: 
‘Take, eat, this is my body.’” There was a 
stillness like unto the stillness of death resting 
on the assembled multitude as he handed the 
broken bread to those nearest him, and the 
elders passed down the sides of the table with 
the plates that all might be quietly served. The 
silence was broken with: “And he took the 
cup and gave thanks, and gave it to them, say- 
ing: ‘ Drink ye all of it.’ ” Other elders passed 
with the urns of wine. All was hushed. The 
people were communing with God — not in words 
alone, but in deed and truth. They were dis- 
missed with a few well-chosen words to make room 
for others. When all were through they united 
in singing: 

“The Lord’s mj shepherd, I’ll not want. 

He makes me down to lie 
In pastures green, he leadeth me 
The quiet waters by.” 

There were the concluding services on Monday, 
and as the Rev. James McMillan was on his way 
to his home he stopped to make a pastoral visit. 
He was asked about the Pigeon Creek Church, 


THE FIRST COMMUNION. 45 

and also how many accessions there were at that 
communion. 

“ Only two. Joseph Martin’s son Paul was one, 
and the daughter of David Fergus was the other. 
I think her name is Phebe.” 

“Yes, he only has one girl, and her name is 
Phebe.” 


CHAPTER V. 

At College. 

“Father, I should like to go to college,” said 
Paul, one morning a few weeks after he had 
united with the Church. 

“ That would be a big undertaking. I want 
you to look up in the world and set your mark 
high, but it is not worth while for you to waste 
your ammunition shooting at the moon.” 

“I am not shooting at the moon, and am not 
thinking of it; I said I want to go to college.” 

“ It amounts to about the same thing. You can- 
not reach the moon, and you cannot go to college.” 

“Why not?” 

“You ought to know. It takes money, for one 
thing. How much have you got? ” 

“You know I have not got any, but you might 
talk about it.” 

“There is no use in wasting time talking about 
the impossible.” 

“I thought it might be made possible.” 

“I think it cannot.” 

Mr. Martin did not wait for further argument. 
He was not only surprised, but he was very greatly 
annoyed. Paul was his oldest son, and a good 
boy, and he was willing to grant any reasonable 
( 46 ) 


AT COLLEGE. 47 

request; but he was a poor man, and could not af- 
ford to give his son a classical education. 

His earthly possessions consisted of the farm on 
which he resided, and it required industry and 
thrift and economy to support his large family in 
any degree of comfort. Although he wanted to 
lay by something for a rainy day, he was quite 
willing to help the children whom God had given 
him all he could, but that was beyond the limit of 
his means or his patience. He hoped that Paul 
would never think of it again, or, if he did, 
that he would never mention it. He forgot that 
his own Scotch-Irish Presbyterian blood coursed 
through the veins of his child, and that he had 
taught him the doctrine of the perseverance of the 
saints. Paul was ambitious and did not like ag- 
ricultural pursuits, neither did he want to learn a 
trade. He had a good opinion of his own men- 
tal powers, thought he possessed talent, perhaps 
genius, and needed intellectual training. He had 
a vague idea of carving out fame and fortune for 
himself in the near future, and he believed that a 
collegiate education would furnish him with the 
tools with which to do the work with ease and 
grace and dignity, and, once properly equipped for 
the undertaking, he would accomplish the desira- 
ble result with credit to himself and his friends. 
Failing to secure even a hearing from his father, 
he appealed to the power behind the throne. 
“Mother, what do you think of my going to col- 


48 A minister’s probation. 

“What?” 

“I want to go to college.” 

“ We have all heard that long ago.” 

“Can I go?” 

“You have my consent. You can go and wel- 
come.” 

“Now, mother, you know what I mean.” 

“I am not sure that I do. Suppose that you 
explain fully, and let me know just what you do 
want, and what you would do if you had your 
own way.” 

“I would go to college to-morrow.” 

“I know that, but that is out of the question. 
You ought to have some definite plan, and I will 
help you if I can.” 

“ Mother, you are a jewel. Will you really help 
me?” 

“I said I would help you if I could. I am not 
sure that I can. Why are you so anxious for a 
better education than any of your friends have 
had? Do you want to make a preacher?” 

“No, I do not.” 

“What do you want to made of yourself?” 

“ I do not know yet. I want the schooling first. 
I just hate this farming, I hate to plow and to sow 
and to reap, and the whole everlasting business.” 

“I am afraid you are inclined to be lazy, and 
are wanting to get into some easy way of making a 
living.” 

“ No, I am not. I am not thinking of making 
money. If I was, I would start a store and specu- 


AT COLLEGE. 


49 


late; that would be better than hoeing corn. Do 
you suppose father would let me get a place to 
clerk in a store?” 

“ No, I do not. Your father needs your help 
on the farm.” 

“And I hate the life. I would rather be a black- 
smith. I wish father would hire me out to some- 
thing that I could stand, and take the money and 
hire a hand to do my work on the farm.” 

“ I do not like to hear you express such senti- 
ments. Your father is a farmer, and his father be- 
fore him was one. So was mine. It is the most 
respectable calling in the world. It is the most hon- 
orable and the most independent. You ought to 
be ashamed to talk about being a blacksmith.” 

“What disgrace is there in shoeing a horse?” 

“There is none, I suppose, but it is not pleas- 
ant work.” 

“ I would rather do it than plow or hoe corn. 
I would not do either if I could help myself.” 

“I am sorry that you are so discontented. I 
wish that we were able to give you a good educa- 
tion. Poor as we are, I would be willing to strain 
every nerve, and trust the future to God, if you 
felt called to preach, and wanted the learning to 
prepare you for your sacred calling.” 

Paul rushed from his mother’s presence. He 
had met with the first great temptation of his life, 
and she, without intending it, without even know- 
ing it, was the temptress. He knew that he had 
to utter but one sentence to accomplish his heart’s 
4 


50 A minister’s probation. 

desire, and that sentence would express a noble 
purpose, a high and holy aim in life, and could 
be told in half a dozen words: “I want to be a 
preacher.” 

He did not want to preach, and he did not for a 
moment think of becoming a minister. He would 
have been appalled at the idea of his ever occupy- 
ing a pulpit. He did think, not only for a mo- 
ment, but for hours and days, of the possibility of 
going to college, with the avowed purpose of mak- 
ing a preacher, and when he was through he could 
change his mind, or something might happen that 
it would not be expected of him. He deliberately 
placed the lie in one side of the scales and a class- 
ical education in the other. He hesitated, and, in 
common with the rest of humanity, while he hesi- 
tated he was in danger. While he was hesitating, 
and the lie of the present and the glory of the fu- 
ture were trembling in the balance, his father laid 
his hand upon his head and said: “ My son, your 
mother and I have been talking about you. We 
have prayed over you. If God has called you to 
labor in his vineyard, far be it from us to put a 
stumbling-block in your way. He has said that 
the silver and the gold are his, and that the cattle 
upon a thousand hills are his. If he has called you, 
we will put our trust in him for the means.” 

“Father, I — I — I have not said I am called to 
preach.” 

“ No, but your mother thinks from your actions 
that you feel that you are. You must not be afraid 


AT COLLEGE. 


51 


of US. God has highly honored us in calling our 
firstborn son to the sacred desk. We will help 
you all we can.” 

Mr. Martin was a consistent Christian. He be- 
lieved that all things were possible with God ; and 
if he wanted Paul, he could and would provide the 
means for his education. He had carefully pre- 
pared himself for that interview, which caused 
Paul to have another struggle, more severe than 
the first, but it was sooner over. 

The lie went down, heavy as iron, college went 
up as light as a feather. He did not want it and 
would not have it at such a price. One rainy day 
when there was not much that could be done on 
the farm he told his father that he would like to 
ride one of the horses to Dr. Taggart’s, and added : 
“ I want to have a talk with him.” 

“ Certainly you can have the horse. I am glad 
you want to see Dr. Taggart. You will find him 
a wise and safe counselor. I hope that you may 
be guided by wisdom from on high.” 

Dr. Taggart gave him a cordial reception, which 
helped him to open his business. 

‘‘ Doctor, I came over to talk to you about going 
to college. Do you think I can ever make any- 
thing of myself if I had a chance? ” 

“ My dear boy, I know that God can make a 
great deal of you if you give him a chance.” 

“ Then you think it would not be altogether time 
and money thrown away if father can manage to 
send me?’' 


52 


A minister’s probation. 


“ Most assuredly not, if you are called of 
God.” 

“ Called to what?” 

“Called to preach the everlasting gospel, the 
good news of salvation, the glad tidings of great 

joy.” 

“I am not wanting to be a preacher.” 

“Not wanting to preach? What do you want 
to go to college for?” 

“ I want an education.” 

“ I am surprised. I understood from your fa- 
ther that you wanted to preach. An education 
is a good thing so far as it goes, but it is hardly 
worth while to take a regular course unless you 
intend to study a profession. Latin and Greek 
would not be of much use to you on the farm.” 

“ I agree with you on that point. I want to get 
away from the farm. I thought you might have 
some influence with father, and persuade him to 
give me an education, without being obliged to be- 
come a preacher.” 

“ I am not so sure about that. What would you 
like to be? How would you like to be a doctor? 
Good doctors are needed in the world next to 
preachers.” 

“ I am only a boy. I am only a little over six- 
teen years old. It is hardly fair that I should be 
required to say now what I may decide to do when 
I become a man. I want an education to prepare 
me for something that I would like better than 
farming.” 


AT COLLEGE. 


53 


‘‘ I see, I see. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the 
evil thereof.’ And it may happen that you will 
want to preach.” 

“ Then I will preach, or a least I will try it, but 
I do not want to be bound to try it whether I want 
to or not.” 

“ Exactly. I believe you are right. I was afraid 
you wanted to be a lawyer. I am glad you do not. 
You would find it uphill work to mix law and re- 
ligion, and I know you have the religion. I would 
not consent for you to be a lawyer, but you might 
get your literary education, and then you could de- 
cide between theology and medicine. Either pro- 
fession is honorable.” 

Paul discreetly avoided the subject of law, and 
said: “I want a college education; and if father 
can be induced to let me have it, I will never ex- 
pect anything more from him ; and after I get it I 
will do all I can for him and for the rest of the chil- 
dren. I should be very thankful if you would see 
him about it.” 

“ I will do that,” said Dr. Taggart. “ I am glad 
that you aspire to something high in life, and I 
hope you will realize your highest aspirations.” 

Dr. Taggart saw Mr. Martin. 

The father and pastor took counsel together, 
and prayed together for the boy who was so dear 
to their hearts. It was decided that he should have 
the culture and training that he so badly wanted. 
Many were the sacrifices made in the humble 
home, that they might be obtained. Each one of 


54 A minister’s probation. 

the children contributed his mite to bring about 
the desired result. Jefferson College, in the 
classic village of Canonsburg, was selected as the 
one best suited to his wants. Mr. Martin visited 
the place, which was only twenty miles distant, and 
made the preliminary arrangements. He engaged 
board in a boarding hall which accommodated 
about twenty-five young men. He would have 
preferred to place his son in a private family, but 
he found that they were willing to take a good 
deal of farm produce at the hall in payment of bills, 
and that was a matter of very great consideration. 
On the day before the opening of the new term 
the farm wagon was brought out, and filled with 
apples and potatoes, turnips and cabbages, flour 
and meal, a ham of meat and a dozen chickens, 
several pounds of butter, five dozen eggs, and a 
jug of good cider vinegar. A small hair trunk 
containing Paul’s wardrobe, a Bible, a Psalm book, 
a Catechism, and a few schoolbooks, was placed 
carefully in the front. Everything being in readi- 
ness, Mr. Martin mounted the seat whip in hand, 
and called out: “ Come on, Paul!” 

Paul was dressed in his school clothes, made by 
his mother, of homemade cloth. He shook hands 
with his younger brothers and sisters, and turned 
to Jane. 

“ I hate to leave you, Jane. You have always 
been a good sister to me.” 

“ And you have always been a good brother, 
Paul. ’ 


At college. 


55 


He advanced a step and kissed her, perhaps 
for the first time in his life. “ Good-by, Jane. 
Where is mother?” 

“ She is out at the wagon, talking to father,” 
replied his sister Annie. “ I want a kiss as well 
as Jane; I’m a good sister, too.’.’ 

“ Kiss me ! ” 

“ And me ! ” 

Paul good-naturedly kissed every one of them, 
and, half laughing, half crying, left the house. 

“ Good-by, mother.” 

“ Good-by, Paul.” She kissed him tenderly. 
It was his first leave-taking. Neither shed a tear, 
although both felt deeply. Paul was determined 
that his mother should not see him cry, and she 
was equally determined that he should not see how 
bad she felt. 

The horses moved slowly off, as the children 
recovered their scattered wits and came troop- 
ing out of the house. They shouted good-by 
until they were hoarse. The last they saw of Paul 
he was standing up in the wagon, with his back to 
the horses, his hat in one hand, and waving a gaudy 
cotton handkerchief with the other. As the wagon 
rattled past the farmhouses everybody went out 
to say good-by and wish him Godspeed. When 
they reached the little log schoolhouse the master 
gave an extra recess, that all the pupils might have 
an opportunity of seeing him and speaking to him. 
He held an informal reception, although no one 
thought of calling it by that name. He shook 


A minister’s probation. 


5 ^ 

hands with all, some of whom were as old as him- 
self. 

“Ain’t you going to kiss Phebe ! ” inquired a 
roguish youth. 

“No, I guess not; take good care of her. I 
will kiss her when I come back.” 

“ We’ll treat her all right, don’t you be scared.” 

“Good-by, master. I have been in your school 
three years. I am much obliged to you for all you 
have done for me.” 

“ You are welcome, very welcome. I have done 
nothing more than my duty. Farewell, Paul. 
Make a man of yourself.” 

“ I shall try to.” 

Hands were unclasped, and the wagon passed 
on. A moment later the master’s ruler called the 
subdued pupils back to study. They were better 
scholars all that day and for many days after be- 
cause one of their number had gone to college. 

When the Martins reached the sleepy little 
burg, and drew in the reins at the hall, Jonathan 
Mills, the proprietor, went out to receive them. 
After exchanging a friendly greeting, Mr. Martin 
introduced Paul by saying: “That’s your land- 
lord; this is my boy.” 

Mills extended his hand. “ Hearty-looking boy. 
How do you do, sir? Glad to see you. Light, and 
go right in. I will hitch your horses to this post 
until John comes home, and he will look after 
them.” 

“ We have got some eatables for you. I thought, 


At college. 


57 


being we were coming in the wagon, we might as 
well bring a little to begin with. I hope they will 
suit you.’’ 

“ O yes, all right. Glad to get them. We can- 
not live without eating, in this town.” 

A young man came up the street' and entered 
the gate. 

“Hold on, Mr. Smith; this is Mr. Martin, come 
to college.” 

The young men bowed. 

“ Take him up with you, please; he is to room 
across from you, with Hornsby. 

The students disappeared; and Mills, assisted 
by Martin, took out the supplies and carried them 
into the kitchen. An inventory was taken of 
quantities and values, and a list retained by each 
of the parties. During the six years that Paul 
lived in that hall no misunderstanding or differ- 
ence in accounts ever occurred. Those were the 
days of old-fashioned hospitality, and Mr. Martin 
dined with his son, and his horses were fed, for 
which no pay was accepted. 

Paul had been brought up in a community in 
which there was no caste ; any man was as good as 
any other man if he behaved himself. Everybody 
did behave, hence all were, as the Declaration of 
Independence declares, free and equal. That 
early training was a great benefit to him, for, 
while he was not accustomed to many of the ways 
and customs of good society, as found in his new 
village home, there was a manly independence 


58 A minister’s probation. 

about him which compensated in a great measure 
for what he lacked. He treated his fellow-stu- 
dents with respect, and exacted similar treatment 
from them. There were too many farmers’ boys 
among them for him to pine for congenial society. 
He sought an introduction to the president and the 
professors, and, having found out what was ex- 
pected of him, he made an honest effort to come 
up to their expectations. He entered the classical 
course, which would require six years of close ap- 
plication and good health on his part to complete. 
He gave the necessary time to his business and 
did his work well, at the same time he kept his 
eyes and ears open, and learned much that was 
not in the books, and some things that were not 
in the classical course, or in any other course laid 
down in the curriculum of study. 

He lent a willing hand whenever there was any 
fun brewing. Any sport not a violation of the 
rules always found him ready; and although a 
rule was sometimes badly bent by a set of boister- 
ous boys, if Paul was in the crowd it was never 
snapped quite in two. He studied his lessons 
thoroughly, attended church regularly, and con- 
tracted no bad habits nor any bad debts, and 
was sent home at the end of the first year with a 
perfect record. He was the lion of Pigeon Creek 
Church. Dr. Taggart expressed the feelings of the 
people when he prayed in the pulpit: “ We thank 
thee, O God, that the young man who went out 
from among us to attend the institution of learn- 


AT COLLEGE. 


59 


ing of thine own appointment has not fallen by 
the way, but has been returned unto us in thine 
own good time.’’ 

He was not proud nor stuck up, as some of his 
friends feared he might be. He was glad to get 
home, and took pleasure in telling them all so. 
Time proved that he had not forgotten how to 
work, and also that he had not grown lazy, for he 
helped with all the work on the farm, and did 
much about the house. 

One morning Mr. Beck went to Martin’s to bor- 
row a scythe. “Well, Paul, have you made up 
your mind what you are going to make of your- 
self? Going to be a preacher?” 

“ No, I think I will be a lawyer,” replied Paul 
laughingly. 

“Tut, tut, boy; there is no law wanted in this 
country.” 

“Why, Mr. Beck, what would we do without 
law ? ’ ’ 

“ We would do just as we have been doing all 
along; we would do right, that is what we would do.” 

“ Law is right.” 

“Sometimes it is, and sometimes it is not. Be 
you going to be a lawyer sure?” 

“ No, I do not know what I will be. It is a long 
way ahead.” 

“Yes, it is; but think about it, though* I hope 
you will feel yourself called to stand in the sacred 
desk and proclaim the everlasting gospel to a dying 
world. Nothing higher than that.” 


6o A minister’s probation. 

“I know it.” 

“You will think about it?” 

“Yes.” 

He received a great deal of advice and many 
encouraging words from his old friends and neigh- 
bors, all of whom were glad to see him, and all of 
whom wished him well. One thing startled him, 
and that was that so many expressed the hope that 
he would feel called to preach. He had never 
felt any such call, and never expected to, and he 
hoped that he had never said or done anything 
that had led those people to believe that he intend- 
ed to be a preacher. He knew that his father was 
educating him, but he did not know that Pigeon 
Creek congregation was praying for him. He re- 
turned to college followed by the good will and 
benedictions of the whole church to which he be- 
longed. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A Country Wedding. 

When Fred Berry left Jane Martin at her own 
door the night of Carson’s corn husking he sum- 
moned up enough courage to ask her if he might 
call on her at some future time. Permission was 
granted, and he became a frequent visitor at the 
Martin hearthstone. He sympathized with Paul 
in his literary aspirations, and used his influence 
— what little he had — in smoothing that young 
man’s pathway to fame. Paul was duly grateful, 
and he welcomed him whenever he had leisure to 
drop in a few minutes, on his own account as well 
as his sister’s. Fred was husbanding his small re- 
sources with a careful hand, that he might be able 
to procure a little home, in which he hoped to install 
Jane as mistress when she became his wife. He was 
a sensible young man. He knew that neither he nor 
a wife could live on air. Plis people and her people 
had their hands full. He had no aspirations be- 
yond a farm. He sighed for a few acres to plow. 
He wanted nothing better in life than an oppor- 
tunity to earn bread for himself and for her in the 
sweat of his brow, by tilling the soil. He worked 
on, hoping for a better day, while he succeeded in 
saving a little of his small earnings. When James 
Smith died, and his wife decided that she and her 

( 61 ) 


62 


A minister’s probation. 


children could not successfully manage her little 
farm, she offered it for sale. Fred bought the 
place with his father’s consent and hearty approval. 
It consisted of a few acres, on which was built a 
very small house. 

Smith had succeeded in making a living, and 
Fred felt sure that he could do as much, and per- 
haps more. His engagement was not published in 
the county papers, neither was it formally an- 
nounced, but it was generally understood. Nei- 
ther Fred nor Jane took as much interest in corn 
huskings or quiltings as they had formerly done. 
If their services were needed, they were always 
willing to help, but Jane was never happier 
than she was at home, where she spent much time 
in piecing quilts for herself. Fred continued to 
give his time and attention to the little farm, that 
his prospective brother-in-law would have heartily 
despised. Money was saved in the Martin home 
to give Jane a suitable bridal outfit. A great many 
things were provided from the family supplies, but 
she would be obliged to have some new clothes, 
including at least two new dresses, and that re- 
quired money. 

Paul knew that Fred was paying very marked 
attention to his sister, and that those attentions 
would probably, almost certainly, result in a union 
of hands and hearts and the founding of a new 
home. He had no protest to make. He was hav- 
ing his way in regard to his own life, and he was 
quite willing that they should be happy in theirs. 


A COUNTRY WEDDING. 


63 


He could not quite understand their patience. 
He knew that it was a very wise proceeding to 
wait until they had accumulated something to start 
with, but it seemed to him that the realization of 
their hopes must be very far in the future. At the 
end of his freshman year he found on his return 
that Fred had bought a farm and fate was smiling 
propitiously. 

“ Jane, when are you and Fred going to get mar- 
ried? I hope it will be this vacation.” 

“ Not this summer.” 

“ It ought to be. You ought to have the wed- 
ding while I am at home.” 

“ What difference will that make? ” 

“ It will make a great deal. I want to witness 
the ceremony. I want to be the groomsman, and 
stand up with you.” 

“ I am sorry we cannot accommodate you, but 
I am afraid we cannot.” 

“ What are you waiting on? Are you going to 
wait until Fred gets his farm paid for? ” 

“ O no, not that long.” 

“ Will you be ready next vacation? ” 

“ I expect so.” 

“All right. Tell Fred I will take pleasure in 
being his waiter on the happy occasion ; ” and Paul 
started toward the gate. 

“ Paul.” 

“What?” 

“ Come back I I want you a minute.” 

He returned and asked mischievously: “What 


64 A minister’s probation. 

is it? Has Fred treated you badly ? Do you want 
my brotherly protection? ” 

“ No, I do not; I have a notion not to tell you, 
but”— 

“ But you think you had better. You are right; 
secrets are dangerous. Out with it.” 

“You will keep it? ” 

“ O yes, you can depend on me. I will help you 
to keep it.” 

“ I thought I ought to tell you while you are at 
home, and I may as well tell you now. We — we 
rather expect to be married this fall.” 

“ That will not do; I will not stand it.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ I want to be on hand. How could you get 
married without me? ” 

“You can come home. Father can go after 
you.” 

“ Yes, I suppose I can, on such an important 
occasion . Y ou might hurry up while I am here . I 
will kill the turkey, and chop wood, and go for 
the preacher, and make myself generally useful.” 

“ I am not sure that we will be ready in the fall, 
but we may. Don’t say anything about it.” 

“ I will not. I am sure that not a soul suspects 
it. He has only been going with you a little over 
three years.” 

Before he returned to school he spoke to Jane 
again about her approaching marriage, and re- 
quested her not to fail to have their father or 
Tom go for him. 


A COUNTRY WEDDING. 65 

He had never gone home except in vacation, 
and seldom heard from the home. folks, except 
when his father came with provisions, unless he 
accidently met some one who had been there 
and had been intrusted with some unimportant 
verbal message. He had now reached his soph- 
omore year, and he was surprised one day when 
he received a letter. He was nearly twenty 
3^ears old, and it was the first letter that had ever 
been sent to his address. , He was told that it had 
been left at the hall while he was at school, by 
a man who had stayed overnight at his father’s. 
Wonderingly he broke the red wax which fasten- 
ed the edges of the paper together. Having as- 
certained from the sig^nature that it was from 
his father, he commenced its perusal with fear and 
trembling, and read as follows: 

My Dear So7i: Your sister Jane is to be married on next 
Wednesday at eleven o’clock. It being the first wedding in 
the family, of course we would be glad to have you with us. 
It may be that you can get a horse without costing you much; 
if not, I know you will be able to foot it, if you want to come 
as bad as we want you here. If things were in better shape, 
we would go for you; but if you have to walk, we can take you 
back. All well. 

Your affectionate father, Joseph Martin. 

Paul gave a prolonged whistle. 

“What is it?” inquired Hornsby. 

“ A wedding.” 

“ Your girl? ” 

“ My sister.” 

“ O, old folks agreed?” 

5 


66 


A minister’s probation. 


“Yes.” 

“ Then it is all right.” 

“ O yes. I have been expecting it, but I was 
not looking for it just now.” 

After a few minutes’ silence Paul looked up. 
“ Tom, do you know where I can get a horse for 
a day or two? ” 

“You might get White’s. It is not fit to ride, but 
it is a good driving horse. Are you going to the 
wedding? ” 

“Yes, I will go if I have to walk.” 

“ It is a long distance for that.” 

“ Not so far when it is home and your sister is 
going to be married.” ■ 

“ Can’t you invite your roommate? ” 

“Yes, I shall be glad to have you.” 

“ Thank you, but as it is not my home, nor my 
sister, I am afraid it is too far for me.” 

Martin took his letter to the president. Dr. 
Brown, and asked for leave of absence, which 
was cordially granted, it being the first favor of 
that kind he had asked during his connection with 
the school. 

“How are you going?” inquired the learned 
doctor sympathetically. 

“ I do not know yet. I may have to walk. If so, 
I will go to-morrow. I can get White’s horse free 
of charge, but Hornsby says it is not fit to ride. If 
I had a horse, I could go Wednesday morning, and 
get there in time. The roads are good.” 

“ Hornsby is right about that horse, but we must 


A COUNTRY WEDDING. 


67 


not let you walk. Let me see; wait a minute,’’ 
mused the professor. 

Paul waited. 

“ I have no horse. I had a good one, but I sold 
him a year ago. However, I have a strong, light, 
serviceable little wagon. You might hitch White’s 
Charley to it, and drive him down. Students do 
not need much female society; but if you think 
it will be too lonesome, you might take your land- 
lord’s daughter along for company.” 

Harriet Mills was a romping schoolgirl of fif- 
teen when Martin went to her father’s to board. 
She was now a dignified young lady of nineteen. 
She never flirted with the students, but there was 
a sort of an idea among them that she belonged to 
Hornsby. Paul thought that it would be pleasant to 
have her with him, and he knew it would create a 
sensation in his rural home. He did not know that 
Hornsby had told Dr. Brown about the wedding 
and had inquired about the wagon, and that the be- 
nevolent suggestion in regard to Miss Harriet was 
a deliberate plan of the old gentleman to keep his 
roommate at his books. The president was not 
in favor of the students spending much time with 
the young ladies of the village, as it was apt to take 
their minds from their studies; but Martin was not 
much of a ladies’ man, and he could be trusted 
not to let it hurt him. Meeting Hornsby on the 
stairs, he began at once: “ I am going to take 
White’s Charley and Dr. Brown’s little wagon. I 
have a notion to invite Miss Harriet to go with 


68 A minister’s probation. 

me. I should like to have company. What do 
you say ? ’ ’ 

“ Me? I say I will go myself, if you have got a 
wagon. You asked me first.” 

“You asked yourself.” 

“ Well, if you do not want me, if I cannot pos- 
sibly go, I will give Miss Harriet my place;” and 
Tom sauntered on. 

Wednesday morning found every one in the 
Martin homestead in a state of blissful anticipation. 
The turkey was browned to a turn, and the table 
was set for dinner. There was nothing more to 
do but to wait the time for the ceremony. Some 
of the guests had arrived, and Dr. Taggart was 
just dismounting, when George Jones exclaimed: 
“ I declare, there is Paul; he has brought a girll” 

Harriet Mills attracted more attention than the 
bride. She was a stranger, a town lady, and, 
above all else, she was Paul Martin’s girl. She 
enjoyed the day very much. She respected those 
plain country people, and was grateful to Paul for 
having taken her. She had often talked with him, 
and when introduced to Phebe Fergus she extend- 
ed her hand, saying: “I have often heard Paul 
speak of you.” 

“ I hope he did not say anything bad.” 

. “ No, indeed ; he never says anything unkind of 
any one.” 

Poor Phebe ! she thought that Harriet was just 
about ready to marry Paul, and, although it was a 
matter that did not concern her, she was scarcely 


A COUNTRY WEDDING. 69 

able to endure the knowledge that they were living 
in the same house. He had been under the influ- 
ence of her charms for more than three years, and 
nothing else could have been expected, but some- 
how it hurt her. 

She must bear it and make no sign. She went 
out on the front porch to get a breath of fresh air 
in the early twilight. The guests were all gone 
except Paul and Harriet, and she had been per- 
suaded to remain and help entertain them. George 
Jones still lingered, and he joined her. 

“Ain’t he struck? ” 

“Who?’' 

“Paul.” 

“ She is nice-looking. 

“ I bet she is nice. Paul would not have any 
other. If he is going to be a preacher, he will 
want a town lady for a wife. Paul looks high.” 

“ He has a right to.” 

“ Of course, and so have I, Phebe.” 

“ What?” 

“ I look up to you; I want you to be my wife.” 

“ George Jones ! ” 

He placed his arm around her and drew her to- 
ward him. 

“ I never could raise the courage to tell you, 
Phebe, because I thought you had a hankering 
after Paul, but now I thought it may be that you 
would listen to a fellow.” 

Just at that moment Paul went out to the 
porch for a quiet word with Phebe, but, seeing 


70 A minister’s probation. 

George with his arm around her, he hastily with- 
drew. 

Neither of them noticed him, but Phebe prom- 
ised to be a sister to George, or something that 
amounted to about that, and he went home fully 
intending at some future convenient season to re- 
new his suit, and he had hope of ultimate success 
if Paul kept out of his way. 

Harriet made a sincere effort to make a friend 
of Ph^be, but the quiet little country girl was un- 
responsive to her advances. She treated her po- 
litely, but was as cold as an icicle. Harriet could 
not help but notice that she was constrained and 
unnatural, but she did not know her well enough 
to ask any questions. When Paul found that his 
presence was not needed on the porch he retraced 
his steps to the kitchen, where his mother had not 
quite finished her domestic labors, which had been 
materially increased by the festivities of the day. 

“ Mother, are George and Phebe engaged?” 

“Why, Paul!” 

“ Does that mean yes or no? ” 

“ It does not mean either. I am surprised at 
your question. I never thought of such a thing. 
He does not go with her, but everybody says he 
would like to. Somehow, Paul, I have always 
thought that ” — 

“What?” 

“ That Phebe was cut out for you.” 

“ Why, mother, what put that in your head? I 
like Phebe, of course, but neither of us ever thought 


A COUNTRY WEDDING. 7 1 

of anything more. It will be years before I will 
be able to provide for a wife.’' 

“ Phebe is a good girl.” 

Certainly. The world is full of good girls.” 

“Paul, come out and see my colt;” and his 
brother Tom hurried him away to admire the colt, 
that he could scarcely see in the fast growing dark- 
ness, leaving the good mother under the impres- 
sion that Paul was lost to her and to Phebe and 
to all the old home life. 

The next morning Harriet cordially invited Phe- 
be to visit her in the near future. She gave a re- 
luctant half promise, which she did not ever expect 
to fulfill. She had nothing against Harriet, noth- 
ing whatever, but she did not want to go to her 
home, and have her think that perhaps she was 
seeking an opportunity to see Paul. She had been 
going to Martin’s all her life, and had never thought 
of Paul ; but they were neighbors, and that made a 
great difference. 

Paul and Harriet returned to Canonsburg, sup- 
plied with an abundance of cake, enough to dream 
over, and a generous slice for Dr. Brown, who im- 
mediately put it to a much more sensible use. 

Mr. and Mrs. Fred Berry went to housekeeping 
in their own little house a few days after their 
wedding. They were as happy as if they had 
taken a tour around the world, and a great deal 
happier, because they wanted to live together in 
their own home, and they did not want to take a 
tour around the world, and would have been great- 


72 


A minister’s probation. 


ly distressed if the means had been furnished and 
they had been required to undertake such a journey. 
They took kindly to their new surroundings, and 
in their daily lives verified the inspiration of the 
scripture which says: “Godliness with content- 
ment is great gain.” In due course of time they 
had corn huskings and quiltings of their own. 
They were prosperous and happy, they felt that 
life was w^orth living, and they joyfully welcomed 
the olive branches that surrounded their table as 
a heritage of the Lord. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The Commencement. 

During his entire six years at college Paul ap- 
plied himself to his studies with a diligence that 
was commendable and even praiseworthy. He 
was aware of the sacrifices that were made in the 
unpretentious country home that he might have 
the advantages that he was enjoying. Those sac- 
rifices were made ungrudgingly and with a degree 
of cheerfulness that could hardly have been ex- 
pected of his younger brothers and sisters. 

Paul seemed to have monopolized the literary 
ambition of the family. None of the other chil- 
dren wanted a classical education, and it was per- 
haps well for them that they did not. When Paul 
reached his senior year he was among the best 
scholars in his class. When they began to talk 
about the honors Martin’s name was sure to be 
mentioned. He had studied for the training, but 
as his school life neared its close he began to con- 
sider the possibility and desirability of distinguish- 
ing himself as an honor man. It would delight 
his father and mother and the whole family. All 
Pigeon Creek would be proud of him, and it would 
gratify his own vanity, of which he had as much 
as was needed. He applied himself with renewed 
energy, and met his examinations with a confidence 

( 73 ) 


74 


A minister’s probation. 


that may have contributed something toward the 
success that crowned his efforts. 

The students were called to meet in the chapel 
to hear the honors announced. The president of 
the Board of Trustees stepped to the front of the 
platform. Every young man was deeply interest- 
ed, although only the seniors were personally con- 
cerned in the awards to be made. The presiding 
officer read a list of the names of those who had 
passed a satisfactory examination and were en^ 
titled to their degrees. It included every member 
of the class, which was an unusually large one. 
The report was received with loud applause. As 
soon as quiet was restored the official proceeded: 
“The following honors were also awarded: First 
honor, Valedictory, Paul Martin, of Pennsyl- 
vania.” The cheers were deafening. The 
“preps,” as the students of the first two years’ 
work were called, seemed to be under the impres- 
sion that their chances for future honors depend- 
ed on the amount of noise they made in express- 
ing their approbation. If such had been the case, 
it would have been necessary to have divided the 
honors, as all were equally entitled to them. A sec- 
ond, third, and fourth honor were conferred upon 
the young men whom the Board in its wisdom 
considered worth}^ to receive them, after which 
the president made a few remarks to the gradu- 
ating class, congratulating them upon the work 
that had been so faithfully done, and informed 
them that no further class work would be expect- 


THE COMMENCEMENT. 


75 

ed of them. He told them that they would need the 
few remaining weeks of the term to prepare their 
Commencement orations, and he expressed an ear- 
nest hope that each one of them would be an honor 
to himself, to his family, and to his Alma Mater. 

That ushered in the senior vacation. The 
young men who lived far from the temple of learn- 
ing stayed in the village until after the Commence- 
ment, while those who lived within a convenient 
distance generally went home, and returned a day 
or two preceding the important occasion. 

When they left the chapel the students gathered 
around Martin. A few were disappointed, and 
others were perhaps chagrined that the lightning 
had struck him ; but they congratulated him with 
their lips, if the words did not well up from their 
hearts. The second honor man probably ex- 
pressed the feelings of the others when he said : 
“I think I ought to have had it, but you came in 
next to me, and they only made a slight mistake. 

‘ ’Tis human to err;’ because they are human I 
forgive them.” 

Martin was a general favorite, and he was con- 
gratulated by the citizens on every hand. He re- 
ceived many pleasant glances from bright-eyed 
maidens who did not know him when he was a 
“prep,” and who were just beginning to wake to 
the fact that he was a rising young man. Baskets 
of flowers were sent to his room, accompanied by 
notes requesting him to please accept them from 
admiring friends. 


76 


A MINISTER S PROBATl6l<. 


He had told his father that his duties were prac- 
tically ended with the examination, and in a day 
or two his brother Tom drove up in the little wag- 
on and took him home. He spent the first few 
days in visiting his old friends and receiving their 
congratulations. No one expressed the least sur- 
prise when told that he was the first honor man of 
his class. He asked himself if they would have 
expressed any disappointment if he had not taken 
any of the honors. They certainly had faith in 
him, and he resolved anew that they should not be 
ashamed of him on Commencement day, or at any 
future time. 

After he had rested he settled down to the 
next duty, that of preparing his valedictory. He 
talked about a theme with his father and mother 
and some other friends. “Go and see Dr. Tag- 
gart,” suggested his father. “He can give you 
plenty of subjects.” 

Martin acted on the advice. 

“What are you going to make of yourself? 
Have you decided to preach?” 

“Ono.” 

“lam sorry for that. I have looked upon your 
college life as a sort of probation. I hoped you 
would feel the call before you got through. I 
hardly know about a subject for your oration. I 
am afraid I cannot help you much there.” 

“You have helped me; you have suggested one 
that I think will be the very thing. Let me think.” 
The experienced doctor passed quietly from the 


THE COMMENCEMENT. 77 

room. When he returned, he inquired: “Well, 
have you found a subject to suit you? ” 

“Yes.’’ 

“What is it?” 

“ Probation.” 

“ A very good one. I hope you will handle it 
well. My library is at your service.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Paul did not shirk his work, and when he re- 
turned to Canonsburg a couple of days before 
Commencement the valedictory was ready. 

The exercises began at the unfashionable hour 
of nine o’clock in the morning. Long before the 
time people began to crowd into the chapel, that 
they might be able to get seats where they could see 
and hear. A few of the front seats were reserved 
for the families of the graduates, many of whom 
had made long and tiresome journeys, in uncom- 
fortable stages, over rough roads, that they might 
be present. There was a large audience, and a 
great many were from Pigeon Creek congregation. 
Phebe Fergus was the guest of Harriet Mills by spe- 
cial invitation. Before startingto the college Harriet 
went into her room with two handsome bouquets. 

‘ ‘ There, Phebe ; take your choice . I am looking 
after Paul’s flowers. You send him one, and I 
will send him the other.” 

“ Why should I send him one? ” 

“ Because you are his friend, and we want him 
to get the most. I would not have him come be- 
hind the rest for anything.” 


78 


A minister’s probation. 


“ It is new to me.” 

“ It is something new here; we never gave them 
flowers until last year, and they say the professors 
are going to put a stop to it, but we coaxed them 
up for to-day. You ought to have seen the one I 
sent Tom last year.” 

“ Who is Tom ? ” 

“ Tom Hornsby, my most particular friend. 
He boarded here six years.” 

“ O!” 

Harriet’s blushes revealed more than her words, 
and a great weight was that moment lifted from 
the heart of the little country girl at her side. 

Martin had supplied his parents with tickets, and 
they were seated in the reserved seats. Notwith- 
standing the length of the programme, no one was 

tired when the presiding officer announced : “ The 
next will be the valedictory by Mr. Paul Martin, 
of Pennsylvania; subject, Probation.” 

Glancing toward the graduating class, he said: 
“ Mr. Martin.” 

Paul advanced to the front of the platform, and 
was met with a round of applause. After it had 
subsided, he began : “ Life from the cradle to the 
grave is one continued probation.” 

He knew what he wanted to say, and he said it 
with an earnestness that captivated his audience 
and convinced them that he meant every word that 
he said. He closed by saying: “Run well the 
race, faint not by the way, and thou shalt receive 
the crown.” 


THE COMMENCEMENT. 


79 


As he retired another storm of applause told 
him that his friends had not been disappointed 
in him. The ushers carried up the flowers, and 
Harriet and Phebe were delighted to see that he 
had as many as, if not more than, any of his pred- 
ecessors. 

Dr. Brown conferred the degrees in Latin, and 
some of Paul’s neighbors wondered if the boy un- 
derstood what was said to him. As he grasped his 
diploma Mrs. Martin nudged the woman beside 
her and said: “That is our boy.” The woman 
smiled and nodded. She knew Paul, and she 
sympathized with the motherly pride of the matron, 
who wanted the world to know her relation to the 
hero of the hour. 

The young men bowed their thanks. 

Announcements for- the next year were made. 
The benediction was pronounced, and another 
large class of young men was sent out into the 
world, armed and equipped, to make or mar their 
future. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A Call to Preach. 

During the senior vacation Martin prepared his 
Commencement oration, and chose his life work. 
One morning when he went to Dr. Taggart’s to 
examine a book that had attracted his attention 
that worthy gentleman surprised him when he 
asked; ‘‘Whom are you going to study under?” 

“ Study under? ” 

“Yes, Dr. Clark is as good a doctor as you 
will find, but I thought you might have some big 
notions in your head, and might not be satisfied 
with a plain country doctor. You may take my 
word for it, he can get you ready for the lectures, 
and do it as well as any doctor in town or city.” 

“ I am not going to be a doctor.” 

“You are not? I thought that was settled. Are 
you going to preach? ” 

“No.” 

“ What are you going to do? ” 

Martin hesitated. “ I am not sure yet.” 

“You ought to be sure. I am astonished. Ready 
to take your diploma, and not sure what you are 
going to make of yourself. I would not advise 
you to preach if you do not feel called, and there 
is nothing else but medicine.” 

“And law.” 

CSO) 


THE COMMENCEMENT. 


8l 


“ We want no law here. It is a delusion and a 
snare. You shall not be a lawyer. I told you that 
before you started to college. Do you remem- 
ber?” 

“ I think I remember that you said something to 
that effect, but we came to no decision ; it was left 
an open question to be settled in the future.” 

“ No, it was not. I never left law an open ques- 
tion ; I settled that then and there. You were to 
follow the leadings of Providence; and if you did 
not feel the divine call, you were to be a doctor.” 

“ I did not understand it that way.” 

‘‘The rest of us did.” 

“Who?” 

“I did, and the whole congregation, besides 
your father and mother and all your family. Do 
you suppose they would have stinted and saved, 
and made the sacrifices they have done, for six 
years to educate you for the business of defraud- 
ing widows and orphans, and cheating and lying, 
and every sort of rascality?” 

“You are prejudiced. Law is a noble profes- 
sion. Why should a lawyer defraud a widow or 
an orphan or cheat, or lie, any more than a preach- 
er or a doctor?” 

“He is bound to defend the ones that do, and 
that is as bad. ‘ The receiver of stolen goods is as 
bad as the thief.’ ” 

“I will take the right side of my cases.” 

“There is no right side to them. Lawing is at 
bad business. What does your father say?” 

e 


82 


A minister’s probation. 


“I have not talked with him about it. I have 
not definitely decided yet.” 

“I am glad of that. It is a serious question. I 
hope you will be guided by wisdom from on high.” 

Paul went home feeling very uncomfortable. 
He was conscious that he had never said he 
was going to be either a preacher or a doc- 
tor. He felt that Dr. Taggart was right when he 
said it was about time he knew what he wanted. 
He finished his oration to his satisfaction, com- 
mitted it to memory, practiced it alone in the woods 
and the meadows; and when he was sure it suited 
him, he turned his thoughts toward the future that 
was stretching out so invitingly before him. He 
asked himself why he wanted to be a lawyer, and 
answered the question conscientiously. He was 
not particularly inclined toward law. He did 
not want to preach, and he had no taste for medi- 
cine. He was ambitious. He wanted to make a 
name and place for himself. He wanted to have a 
share in the making of the laws, not that the laws 
might be improved, but that he might reap the re- 
ward and have a share in the honors. He noticed 
that it was the lawyers who were sent to the Legis- 
lature and to Congress. It was lawyers who were 
elected governors and senators, and it was law- 
yers who were appointed judges and sent as am- 
bassadors. He wanted to rise in the world. He 
wanted to be somebody, and he wanted to be 
recognized at his full value. He went to see Dr. 
Clark. 


A CALL TO PREACH. 83 

“Doctor, if you are not busy, I want to talk 
with you. Can you spare a little time?’’ 

“O yes; I have no dangerous cases on hand 
now. I am not going anywhere this afternoon. 
What can I do for you? Have you got the chills, 
or is your liver out of order?” 

‘ ‘ Neither. I want your advice, not professional ; 
yes, I believe I do want your professional advice 
in regard to a profession. I am not called to 
preach, and Dr. Taggart seems to regard law as 
the unpardonable sin. He insists that I must be a 
doctor. What do you think? ” 

“Are you called ?” 

“ Called to what? ” 

“ Called to be a doctor.” 

“No. I did not suppose you had to be called 
to that. I supposed you learned that.” 

“My dear young man, you have taken entire- 
ly too much for granted. Do you know anything 
about medicine?” 

“No, I do not.” 

“Has the effort to relieve suffering, or the at- 
tempt to discover its cause, a fascination for you ? ’ ’ 

“ No, no, I shrink from anything of that kind. I 
am perfectly helpless in the presence of the sick.” 

“ Then you are not fit for a doctor.” 

“I knew I was. not, but they all seem to take it 
for granted that I must either study theology or 
medicine. I hardly have a third choice.” 

“ What about law?” 

“ Dr. Taggart considers it the highway to ruin.” 


84 


A minister’s probation. 


‘‘Is Dr. Taggart your guardian?” 

“No, but father is of the same opinion.” 

“Dr. Taggart is a good man and a sound 
preacher, but he is prejudiced, and so is your fa- 
ther. They both have very narrow views of life, 
if you will excuse me for saying so.” 

“ I will excuse you, for I agree with you. At the 
same time it is hard for me to ask father to send 
me to law school, when he regards it as preparing 
me for a life of sin and misery.” 

“You are mistaken there; jhe does not go that 
far. He will be disappointed, but he will forgive 
you.” 

“ I am afraid not.” 

“Yes, he will. You are his son, and he will 
have to be lenient with you. Then I will help you 
out by telling him that it is not worth while for you 
to try to be a doctor, unless you have a natural 
aptitude for the work. Have you decided on law ? ’ ’ 

“Not altogether. It seemed so utterly hope- 
less.” 

“ I see nothing to hinder you, if your heart is 
set on it. If I were you, I should go to Washing- 
ton, and see some of the lawyers, Do you know 
any of them ? ” 

“I know Judge Long. He has been at the col- 
lege several times the past two years.” 

“He is as good as any. It would be well to see 
him. Religion is Dr. Taggart’s business, and 
medicine is mine. Judge Long can tell you more 
about law in an hour than we can in a year.” 


A CALL TO PREACH* 85 

Martin went to Washington, the village where 
the county records were kept and the courts con- 
vened. He talked to several lawyers. Judge 
Long received him kindly, and he opened his 
heart to him as to a lifelong friend. 

“ I know I am not called to preach, and Dr. 
Clark says it is impossible to be a successful doc- 
tor unless I am called to that. I think I can make 
a lawyer.’’ 

“You feel called to the bar? ” 

“What?” 

“You feel called to the study of law, you feel 
that a higher power which you cannot resist impels 
you to seize the balances and hold them with a firm 
and steady hand? ” 

“ I am not sure that I know what you are talk- 
ing about.” 

“ I am talking about the legal profession. The 
world needs conscientious, upright lawyers, men 
who go into battle with the war cry : ‘ Let justice 
be done, though the heavens fall.’ Do you want to 
enlist in that army? ” 

“ Yes, I want to be on the side of justice.” 

“You want to be an attorney for the opportuni- 
ty it will afford you of doing good in the world.” 

“ No, I cannot say that exactly. I want a 

chance to amount to something in the world?” 

“You are ambitious. Are you going to enter 
politics ? ” 

“Not exactly, though I would not object to a 
good office, if one was offered me.” 


86 


A Minister’s probation. 


‘‘ That might come in time. Office is the re- 
ward of faithful service. You will no doubt make 
a successful lawyer. It would be a good idea to 
attend court while you are in town.” 

Martin attended a session or two, and was not 
very deeply impressed with the dignity of the at- 
torneys. The subject of the litigation was the 
moving of a fence, that had been a division fence 
between two properties. The lawyers wrangled 
with each other, and harangued the court, until he 
was digusted with the case, and pitied the judge, 
who was obliged to listen to it. As he left the 
courthouse he met Judge Long. 

“ How do you like it? ” 

“ I do not like it at all. They are making as 
much fuss about that old fence as if it were a gold 
mine.” 

“ My dear sir, I am afraid you are not called to 
law.” 

“ That is not my idea of law. What difference 
does it make to those lawyers whether that fence 
is exactly where it ought to be or not? ” 

“ None whatever.” 

“ Then why do they not let the men who are in- 
terested settle it between themselves? What are 
the lawyers after?” 

“ Their fees.” 

“ O, I would not want to make money that 
way.” 

“ I told you that you were not called,” replied 
the judge laughingly. “ Why do you not preach? 


A CALL TO PREACH. 87 

The honors come easier there, and would be more 
to your taste.” 

Martin was perplexed. The preacher to whom 
he had gone for advice had advised him to be a 
doctor, the doctor had sent him to a lawyer, and 
the lawyer suggested the pulpit. He had com- 
pleted the circle, and was more at sea than when 
he started. 

He asked himsel:^ what he could do, and he was 
not quite sure that he knew. He went home by way 
of Canonsburg. He wanted to see the boys, and 
he wanted particularly to see Dr. Brown. He 
poured out his hopes, or rather his doubts and 
fears, into the ears of the sympathetic doctor, who 
listened to him kindly and patiently. 

The doctor knew him well, and was prepared 
to deal with him intelligently. “ I think,” said 
he, “that God intends everybody to do some- 
thing. You do not want to lead a life of idle- 
ness.” 

“ By no means.” 

“The great danger, perhaps the only danger, is 
that you will make a mistake in choosing your 
work. The worst failures in life are made in that 
way. If you want to be a lawyer, pray over it, 
and God will help you to know if that is what is 
best for you.” 

“ Pray over it? ” 

“ Certainly. Why not? ” 

“ I hardly know. I should not have thought of 
praying over studying law.” 


88 


A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 


“You are a Christian? ’’ 

“ O yes.” 

“ Then God is your father and he will direct 
your steps. I believe you have taken a prominent 
part in the students’ prayer meeting. You must 
know the value of prayer. You are surely a pray- 
ing man.” 

“Yes, but I would hardly be able to pray that I 
may be a successful lawyer and rise in the world, 
and go to Congress, or be sent as Minister to En- 
gland.” 

“ That is what you ought to be able to do, if 
that is what you want in life. It is a laudable am- 
bition. You have no need to be ashamed to dis- 
cuss it with God or man.” 

“ You are different from Dr. Taggart. He con- 
siders lawyers sinners above all other sinners.” 

“ Dr. Taggart is a good man, but he is narrow, 
very narrow. Does he want you to preach? ” 

“ Not exactly. He said he would not want me 
to preach unless I am called. He wants me to be 
a doctor.” 

“ What do you want? ” 

“ That is what I am trying to find out. I have 
had a vague sort of an idea ever since I have been 
in college that I wanted to be a lawyer. Now that 
I am giving it serious thought I am not so sure.” 

“ Have you ever thought of the ministry? ” 

“Yes, no — that is, father would like to have me 
preach, but I am not called to that.” 

“You mean that you would not like the work? ” 


A CALL TO preach. 


89 

‘‘ No, I do not mean that. You are a preacher. 
You ought to understand. I have always thought 
that God called some men to be preachers.” 

“ He does; and he calls some to be doctors, oth- 
ers to be lawyers, others to be farmers, and he has 
called some very good men to be carpenters.” 

“ I have not looked at it in quite that light. I 
thought there was a special call to preach.” 

“There is, and there is also a special call to 
the carpenter. The call consists in being fitted 
for certain work. The boy that goes around 
with a hammer and nails is apt to be a carpenter; 
the one that rows and swims, and runs off to the 
creek, makes the sailor; the one that makes pow- 
ders of flour becomes a doctor.” 

“I hope I am called to something.” 

“I do not believe that you are. If you were, 
you would know it. You would not be consult- 
ing Dr. Taggart about theology, and Dr. Clark 
about medicine, and Judge Long about law. You 
would know what you want, and you would go to 
work and do it.” 

“What am I to do?” 

“Do as I told you. Pray over it and listen for 
the call. You will be sure to hear it. You will 
not hear an audible voice, such as was heard by 
your illustrious predecessor, Saul of Tarsus, as he 
went down to Damascus, but you will know what 
your Heavenly Father wants you to do.” 

Martin reached home a wiser young man than 
when he went to Washington. He went to God 


90 A minister’s probation. 

with his trials ^nd troubles as he had never done 
before. He felt that before Commencement he 
must come to some conclusion in regard to his fu- 
ture. He took counsel with his Father in heaven 
and listened for a call to something. “Lord, 
what wilt thou have me to do?” was the earnest, 
sincere cry that came from the depths of his heart. 
The Spirit of God answered the cry and bore wit- 
ness with his spirit. 

While the Holy Spirit was wooing him to the 
ministry all Pigeon Creek congregation w*as pray- 
ing for him. None of them knew of the deep wa- 
ters through which he was passing. They only 
knew that he had not yet chosen his life work. 
Visions of the heights to which preachers some- 
times attain passed before him. He thought of 
pastorates in flourishing city churches and of pro- 
fessorships in colleges and theological seminaries. 
Such thoughts yielded to an ardent desire to win 
souls for Christ. He received a call to preach, 
and he responded: “Abba, Father.” 

The morning after he graduated he went to see 
Dr. Brown to bid him good-by. 

“Have you chosen a profession?” 

“Yes.” 

“What is it?” 

“ I am going to try to preach.” 

Dr. Brown smiled. “Are you called?” 

Martin laid his hand in the doctor’s as he re- 
plied: “I am. Woe is me if I preach not the 
gospel.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

Engaged. 

Martin went home to stay until it was time to 
enter the seminary. He found that during his six 
years’ absence he had lost much of his interest in 
farm life and the homely surroundings of his pa- 
rental abode. He visited more than he had ever 
done in any othervacation, and he renewed his early 
friendship with Phebe Fergus. Nearly all the other 
girls were married, or going to be soon, so that he 
did not have much choice when it came to the so- 
ciety of young ladies. He found her better edu- 
cated than he would have supposed possible with 
her limited advantages. Her culture was unmis- 
takable and her self-possession remarkable. He 
went to see her on one little pretext or another 
every few days, and the more he saw of her the 
oftener he went. One afternoon he made the 
startling discovery that he was in love. He did 
not know it, and it might have taken him some 
time to have found it out, had he not been given a 
little gratuitous assistance by George Jones, who 
was still an ardent admirer of the little lady, and 
hoped against hope that she would sometime con- 
sent to be more than a sister. Paul was interfer- 
ing sadly with his hopes, and George determined 
to find out if he was a rival for her hand, or only 

( 91 ) 


92 


A minister’s probation. 


a friend. He took a proper, manly course, and 
went to Paul for the information. “Are you in 
love with Phebe? Are you going to marry her?” 
he asked. 

‘ ‘ Why — why — what is it to you ? ’ ’ 

“It is my business just this far: I have been 
courting her, or trying to, for six years. I have 
not made much headway, but I still think there may 
be some chance if you do not want her. If you 
do, I may as well quit.” 

Martin hesitated, not knowing what to say. He 
loved Phebe, but he had never told her so, simply 
because he had not known it himself until then. 
He did not want to tell the man who had been 
trying to win her for six years that he had fallen 
in love with her within the last six weeks, and 
that he meant to appropriate her to himself. 
“George, I do not think you do me justice. I 
have been away all these years, and you have had 
a clear field so far as I am concerned. I have 
never spoken a word of love to her. If she will 
not have you, it is hardly fair to blame me.” 

“I am not blaming you, but I am glad you do 
not want her, I will see her once more;” and he 
started off. 

“ George ! ” 

^‘Well.” 

“Tell me after you have seen her.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We had better understand each other. When 
I came home, I had never thought much about 


ENGAGED. 


93 


love, and settling in life, for it was away in the fu- 
ture, you know; but since I have been home I have 
fallen in love with Phebe. She may not have me, 
we may be in the same boat, but you have loved 
her all these years, and you ought to have the first 
chance.” 

“ O, I have had my chance. I proposed to her 
the day that your Jane was married. Go ahead, 
and if you get her, you have not done any under- 
hand work, and I will not lay up anything 
against you.” 

Phebe was the first love of both the young men, 
and, although rivals for her hand, they parted 
friends; but those were the good old times, before 
people had learned to gain their ends by fair or 
foul means, and then be sorry forever after that 
they had succeeded. George went his way, and 
never indulged another hope of anything more 
than sisterly affection for Phebe. Paul went to 
see her that evening, as usual. Now that he 
was awake, he was very wide awake, and while he 
was not afraid of George Jones, or any other man 
on top of the earth, he was very much afraid of 
Phebe. He was not afraid she might prefer some 
one else, but he feared she did not want him. 

“Why, Paul! How do you do? I am glad to 
see you. Mr. Edwards, Mr. Martin.” 

Mr. Edwards extended his hand as he said: “I 
am glad to meet you. I have heard Phebe and 
Dr. Taggart both speak of you. I hope we shall 
be friends,” 


94 


A minister’s probation. 


“I hope so,” replied Paul. 

“You are going to enter the seminary this fall, 
I hear.” 

“Yes.” 

“lam glad of that. I am glad that you are go- 
ing to enter the ranks of the ministry.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Consecrated young men are needed. I wish 
you were ready for work. I would be glad to 
have you go with me.” 

“Where?” 

“To Ohio. I am going out there, among the 
wilds, to look after some stray sheep that are in 
danger of wandering from the fold, a sort of mis- 
sionary worko” 

“Are you a preacher? ” 

“O yes. Do I not look it?” laughing. “I was 
licensed two years ago, and was ordained at the 
last meeting of our Presbytery, east of the moun- 
tains. It was thought I might be more useful as an 
ordained minister than simply a licentiate.” 

Paul heartily wished that he was making him- 
self useful at that moment in his new field of la- 
bor. He ventured: “ When are you going? ” 

“I do not know yet. I am going to stay two 
or three weeks with Dr. Taggart. I want to do a 
little studying with him. It may take me longer.” 

“I thought you were through.” 

“I am, through the seminary; but, my dear sir, 
you will find there is much to learn even after you 
are ordained.” 


ENGAGED. 


95 


That was said in a patronizing sort of a way that 
irritated Paul. “I expect to learn all my life, but 
I do not quite understand why you should study 
with Dr. Taggart after you are through the sem- 
inary.'' 

“O, of course I am not obliged to study with 
any one, but there are some points I want to look 
up, and he wants me to preach for him next Sab- 
bath ; and so I have decided to stay this week and 
next any way, and then I will see." 

Paul did not see any necessity for staying the 
next week after the preaching was over, but he 
held his peace. He stayed, and so did the Rev. 
Samuel Edwards, until it was getting late. 

When he rose to depart he thought Edwards 
looked pleased. 

Phebe said good night, and the preacher went 
out on the porch with him. “You have no idea 
how glad I am to have met you. May I go over 
in the morning to see you?" 

“Certainly. " 

“I want you to do me a little favor." 

“What is it?" 

“I will tell you in the morning." 

“All right. Good-by." 

Paul did not sleep well that night, for thinking 
about Phebe and that man, and decided to ask his 
mother about it. 

At the breakfast table Tom threw some light 
on the subject by saying: “ I saw that old preacher 
going over to see Phebe again yesterday." 


96 


A minister’s probation. 


“Tom, you must not speak that way of a min- 
ister. It is not respectful,” said his mother re- 
provingly. 

“Well, mother, he is old; he will never see 
thirty.” 

“He does not look that old.” 

“Andy Fergus says he is twenty-seven,” put in 
Annie, “and that is about the right age for Phebe. 
She is twenty- two herself.” 

“Did Andy say he is about the right age for 
Phebe?” laughed Tom. 

“No, he did not; I say it.” 

“Who is he?” inquired Paul. 

“ He is a young preacher, some distant relation 
of Dr. Taggart, I think. He came here to see him 
a year or two ago, and they say he took a notion 
to Phebe. He has been here several times since, 
and spends most of his time over there. It will be 
a match sure,” replied Tom. “ I wish you were 
ready to marry them.” 

“ I wish you would hush,” said Paul. 

“ You needn’t get mad. That will be a part of 
your ministerial business, a most interesting part, 
I should say. It will bring in the shekels.” 

Paul rose from the table and went out of the 
kitchen, where they were eating, and walked slow- 
ly toward the barn. Mr. Martin reproved Tom 
for his thoughtless speech, and instructed the chil- 
dren that Paul’s call to the ministry was a very sa- 
cred matter and must not be made a subject for 


ENGAGED. 


97 


Tom could not see any harm in what he had 
said, and, wondering at his brother’s strange con- 
duct, he followed him to the barn and found him 
lying on some new hay in the loft. 

“ What is the matter, Paul? ” 

“ You are only a boy, Tom; I cannot tell you.” 

‘‘ I am twenty-one years old.” 

“ Can I trust you? ” 

“ Just as you please.” 

“ O Tom, I hope you are not mad. I am so 
miserable. Life looks very dark to me now.” 

“ I am sorry.” 

“ I love Phebe, and it seems to me that I have 
always loved her. Is she really groins to marry 
that fellow?” 

“Paul Martin! I thought you wouldn’t have 
her.” 

“ Wouldn’t have her? ” 

“Yes; people used to say she would not have 
George Jones because she liked you. I know she 
likes you better than she does Edwards. It stands 
to reason she must. If you wanted her, why did 
you not tell her so long ago? ” 

“ My mind has been on my books. I have not 
been thinking of love or girls very much. I am not 
ready to marry, and Edwards is. He is coming 
over this morning to see me. He told me that he 
wanted me to do him a favor. I expect he wants 
me to speak a good word for him.” 

“ Tell him you want her yourself.” 

“ I could not do that.” 

7 


98 


A minister’s probation. 


“ Why not? ” 

“ It would not do any good, for if Phebe prefers 
him that ends the matter.” 

“ There he comes now.” 

“I must go and meet him. Do not mention this, 
Tom;” and Paul hurried around to the front of 
the house to receive his unwelcome guest. 

Tom mounted Charley, still his colt, and went 
to see Phebe. He meant business and felt per- 
fectly competent to attend to it properly. He rode 
up to the gate and called out: “ Halloo! ” 

Mrs. Fergus went to the door. 

“ Is Phebe at home ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Tell her to come out here ; I want to see her.” 

Phebe went out. “ Good morning, Tom. Can’t 
you come in? ” 

“ No, I cannot. I am on private business. 
I came over to see if you are going to marry 
that preacher, Edwards. If it is settled, I have 
nothing more to say. Are you going to take 
him? ” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ You do not want to tell. Well, you need not. 
I will tell you something. Paul is nearly crazy, 
because he thinks that Edwards has got ahead of 
him. Paul is not ready to marry yet, but he is 
worth waiting on. I thought I would come over 
and tell you, so you could take your choice, for I 
know if you would promise Edwards you would 
not go back on your word. 


ENGAGED. 99 

“ I am much obliged to you, but I think you are 
mistaken about Paul.” 

“ No, I am not. He told me so himself. You 
must not mention it.” 

“ I will not.” 

“ Good-by.” 

Phebe did not return to her domestic duties at 
once. She wanted to be alone, that she might 
think. She had promised Edwards that she would 
give him an answer during that visit, but she was 
not quite ready. She was conscious of the honor 
he conferred upon her when he asked her to be- 
come his wife, and, although her parents were not 
anxious to lose the only daughter of the household, 
they regarded marriage as the proper thing for all 
women, and they could not expect another such 
opportunity ever to come to their quiet little girl. 
They wanted her to accept the good fortune, and 
would be greatly disappointed if she did not. 
That was Saturday. 

Young Edwards was to preach the next day, 
and on Monday he was to come for his answer, 
and she had about decided that she would tell him 
she did not feel any great surging love for him, 
but that she respected him, and if he thought it 
would add to his happiness she would do her best 
in the station to which he proposed to exalt her. 
To be a preacher’s wife was the highest position 
ever attained by woman, in the estimation of the 
good people of that community. 

Phebe did not put Martin and Edwards in the 


lOO 


A minister’s probation. 


balances and weigh them. She had unbounded 
confidence in Tom, and in the great joy that his 
message brought her she did not think of Edwards 
at all, but was content in the assurance that Paul 
loved her. That was enough. She had a happy 
home and was not anxious to marry any one. 
The answer was ready for the Rev. Samuel Ed- 
wards whenever he chose to call for it, and she 
went into the house with a lighter heart than she 
had carried for many a day. 

“Phebe!” 

“Well, mother?” 

“Don’t bother about the work. How are you 
and Edwards getting along? ” 

“We are good friends.” 

“ Is that all? ” 

“Is not that enough?” 

“No, he is going to preach to-morrow, and 
everybody will be asking about him. I hoped you 
would have it all settled.” 

“Now, mother, do you want to send me off to 
Ohio and let the wolves get me?” 

“Phebe, have you made up your mind?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“How is it?” 

“I do not want to marry Mr. Edwards.” 

“ I am so sorry. I wish you could see your way 
clear.” 

“I do see my way clear.” 

“ Do you never intend to marry?” 

“Yes, when the right one comes along.” 


ENGAGED. 


ioi 


“ What if he never comes? ’’ 

“ Then I will fall back on George Jones.’’ 

“You ought not to make light of so sacred a 
subject. I do not want to force your inclination, 
but I do not see why you cannot be happy with 
Mr. Edwards.” 

“Mother, I do not want to marry now. You 
have only one girl. Can’t I earn my living here 
awhile.” 

“ Have him wait.” 

“ I do not want to marry him, never.” 

“ Whom do you want to marry?” 

“ Nobody.” 

Mr. Fergus came in. 

“ Father, don’t let mother make me get mar- 
ried. Can’t I live here a few years longer?” 

“Yes, a thousand or two if you want to. M}^ 
little girl does not have to get married, so she 
don’t;” and he took her in his arms as if he 
thought there was danger of some would-be bride- 
groom whisking her out of the reach of his father- 
ly, protecting care. Her father hoped that she 
would accept Mr. Edwards; but if she did not, he 
would never let her know that he had wished it 
otherwise. When Tom Martin arrived at home 
he found his brother and his guest in the orchard 
in earnest conversation. Well satisfied with his 
morning’s work, he went about his farm duties 
with alacrity, and when the stranger was well out 
of the way he joined Paul for the purpose of tell- 
ing him the good turn he had done him. 


102 


A minister’s probation. 


“ What did the fellow want?” 

“About as I expected. He says Phebe has 
not given him a definite answer, but that she has 
promised it Monday, and he wanted me to see her 
in the meantime and plead his cause.” 

“Are you going to?” 

“No, a girl ought to decide such a question 
without outside help.” 

“You had better go over this afternoon and see 
her for yourself.” 

“No, no; that would never do. I have lived 
within half a mile of her all my life, and have 
never told her that I loved her. If I were to tell 
her now, when I know that she is considering the 
proposal of another, she would resent it as an im- 
pertinence.” 

“Why?” 

“ For several reasons. If she wants Edwards, 
I have no disposition to come between them. He 
is ready to marry now, and I am not. I would 
rather she*would answer him without knowing my 
feelings toward her. If she accepts him, it is all 
right. May God give me strength to bear it ! ” 

Tom thought it was not necessary to tell him 
about his morning’s visit. 

Sabbath brought everybody to church. It was 
a churchgoing community, and that day was nei- 
ther too hot nor too cold, and no one had an ex- 
cuse to indulge his laziness by staying at home. 
Mr. Edwards preached the first sermon, and that 
gave the congregation a chance to discuss it dur- 


ENGAGED. 


103 


ing the intermission. It was generally understood 
that he was a suitor for the hand of Phebe, and it 
was also generally supposed that he was her ac- 
cepted lover, and would in the near future be- 
come her husband. They were proud of the 
affair. That an ordained minister should come 
over the mountains and take a wife from among 
their girls was an honor to every member of the 
church. 

A group of ladies chatted as they ate their lunch. 
“When is it going to be?” inquired Mrs. Beck, 
glancing in the direction of Mrs. Fergus. 

“It is not going to be at all, I am afraid.” 

“Not going to be?” exclaimed all at once. 

“ I am afraid not. Phebe does not take to him, 
and we cannot make her marry him.” 

“ Does she not like him? ” 

“Yes, she likes him well enough, but she says 
that she does not want to marry.” 

“ Do not let her throw such a chance over her 
shoulder. ‘ She will never get such another.” 

“We cannot compel her.” 

“You can advise her.” 

“ Girls do not always take advice. I do not 
know what she will do, but I am afraid she will 
let him slip through her fingers.” 

“ It will be too bad if she does.” 

No one thought there was much danger of such 
a catastrophe, or Phebe would have received some 
matronly advice that day. Sabbath that it was. 
The reverend gentleman called on Phebe Monday 


104 ^ minister’s probation. 

morning, and found her on the front porch. She 
gave him her answer, gently but firmly, and sent 
him away with her respect, while she retained his. 
He knew that she would never be his wife, and 
that it was through no fault of his. He accepted 
his fate and bade her good-by without any display 
of feeling. 

The theological points he wanted to study with 
Dr. Taggart suddenly lost their interest, and on 
Tuesday morning he turned his face in the direc- 
of the wilderness of Ohio, and Pigeon Creek con- 
gregation knew him no more forever. 

Paul kept away from Phebe for several days, 
and when he did go his mind was made up. He 
wanted to know his fate. He too found her on 
the front porch. After greetings were exchanged 
there was an awkward silence. Both tried to say 
something, but the attempts were little better than 
absolute failures. 

“Phebe.” 

“Well.” 

“Phebe.” 

“Well.” 

Paul went up to her. “Phebe, will you — Phebe, 
will you marry me?” 

“Why, Paul!” 

“I know it is egotistical in me asking you, 
when I know that you refused Edwards, for 
he is away ahead of me; but, Phebe, I love 
you, and I am in no hurry, for I have got to go 
to the seminary yet, and you will have plenty of 


ENGAGED. 


105 

time. You will try to love me; won’t you, 
dear ? ” 

Phebe evaded the question. “ How do you 
know that I refused Edwards?” she asked gently. 

“ He told me so.” 

“ Did he run around telling it? ” 

“No, he only told me; he is a splendid man, 
but, Phebe, you did not answer me. Will you be 
my wife ? ’ ’ 

“ Not to-day.” 

• “ Some time? ” 

“ Perhaps so.” 

Paul was satisfied; heart answered to heart. 
They loved each other, and words were not need- 
ed. They forgot time, and minutes ran into 
hours, when they were called back to things ma- 
terial by Phebe’s father coming around the corner 
of the house. 

Paul went to meet him, and as they shook hands 
he said: “ Mr. Fergus, I want to ask a favor. 

“What is it?” 

“ I want Phebe.” 

“Why — why, Paul Martin! Who would have 
thought it?” 

“ I think it, and I will do my best to make her 
happy?” 

“ Will she have you? ” 

“ I think so.” 

“ It is for her to say.” 

The men shook hands again, and as David 
Fergus retreated the way he had come the strong 


io6 A minister’s probation. 

man brushed the unbidden tears from his cheeks. 
Her prince had come, and his little girl wanted to 
marry. ■ 

Paul went home. “ Mother, I have proposed to 
Phebe. We are engaged.” 

“Why, Paul!” 

“Are you satisfied?” 

“Yes, yes; we all like Phebe, but you cannot 
marry until you are through the seminary.” 

“ I do not know about that yet.” 

Paul was very much in love and very much in- 
earnest. He tried to persuade Phebe to be mar- 
ried before he went away, but she was firm. He 
could not bear the thought of possible rivals while 
he would be gone. 

On the day of his departure for the school of 
the prophets he told George Jones the condition 
of affairs. 

A few hours later Sallie Beck ran into her 
mother’s room. “O mother, what do you think? 
Paul Martin and Phebe Fergus are engaged.” 


CHAPTER X. 

The Theological Seminary. 

Martin started to the seminary well pleased 
with himself and all the world. He had wanted to 
marry Phebe and take her with him, or leave her 
his wife at her home. She decided the question 
for him. She considered it the wiser plan to wait 
until he was licensed to preach, and, although he 
did not quite agree with her, he had told her when 
he proposed to her that he was in no hurry. He 
found that she had a will of her own, and she was 
in no hurry either. He asked his father to look 
after her; he requested his mother to see to her; 
he told Tom to take care of her, and left feeling 
that she would probably get along in comfort un- 
til his return. He stipulated that he should be 
sent for if he was needed, and he wrote to her 
and received letters from her regularly. He was 
too sensible to let thoughts of her interfere with 
his studies. The distinguished minister who had 
charge of the school of theology received him 
kindly. He presented recommendations from Dr. 
Brown and Dr. Taggart, both of whom regarded 
him as a talented young man, who would reflect 
credit upon the Church with which he was con- 
nected. He was placed in a private family to 

( 107 ) 


io8 A minister's probation. 

board. He was told that he would find it much 
more congenial than a public boarding house. 
The head of the house was a prominent merchant 
in the city and a ruling elder in the Presbyterian 
Church. Mrs. Black was a good motherly wom- 
an, who was glad to have the upright, unassuming 
country divinity student in the house. She hoped 
his influence over their son Sam would be salutary. 
They had an only daughter, Alice, who was in 
her senior year at school. The outlook was 
bright, and Martin appreciated his cultured sur- 
roundings. 

Sam had certain duties in his father’s store that 
he was supposed to perform, but he contrived to 
have a great deal of leisure time. He spent some 
of it in places that would have horrified his good 
mother if she had known it. He met Martin at 
the breakfast table. When the meal was ended 
he lingered in the dining room. 

“ Mother, who is that fellow? ” 

“ He is a young theological student.” 

“ Where is he from?” 

“ He is from the country, some place in Wash- 
ington County, I think.” 

“ What is he doing here?” 

“ He is attending the seminary.” 

“ We do not keep the seminary. I mean at our 
house.” 

“ O, Dr. Smith asked your father to take him to 
board. He has just graduated at college. His 
means are limited, and he is hardly able to pay the 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. IO9 

prices they ask at places where they make their 
living by keeping boarders.” 

“ Then he is going to board here ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“What do we want with a boarder? He will 
be a nuisance.” 

“ No, he will not; he needed a home, and we 
have plenty of room. I hope you will treat him 
politely. He has been raised in the country, and 
lacks the ease and grace that comes natural to 
young men who have been brought up in the 
city.” 

“ I’ll treat him all right. I’ll take him around 
and show him the sights. I wonder if he can 
dance.” 

“ Why, Sam, he is going to be a preacher!” 

“ What if he is? Didn’t David dance wheh he 
took up the ark of the Lord? and didn’t the wom- 
en dance when they went out to meet the soldiers 
after the battle, with their trimbles and cymbals 
and fiddles ? ” 

“ That was different. Dancing, such as they 
have now, is wrong. I hope that you will never 
indulge in any such questionable amusement.” 

“ No, mother; I just watch the rest; ” and Sam 
left the room. 

Alice was in the hall with her books in her 
hands ready for school. 

“ Sam, how do you like Mr. Martin? ” 

“You mean the boarder; I suppose he is all 
right, but what do we want of him? I am sur- 


no 


A minister’s probation. 


prised that mother will consent to be troubled with 
a boarder.” 

“ She took him as she does everything else, from 
a sense of duty. I am glad she did. I like him. 
I am going to set my cap for him.” 

‘‘ I am going to introduce him to society. Be- 
tween us we will make it lively for him. We will 
keep him from getting homesick.” 

“ Do you suppose he is engaged?” 

“No, he never looked at a girl in his life.” 

“ I will make him look at me before he is much 
older.” 

Alice went to school with her thoughts on the 
fun she meant to have with the new member of 
their family, rather than on her lessons. Sam 
went to the store thinking that he would please his 
mother by being civil to the young man, and he 
would make it as pleasant for him as he could, if 
his tastes ran in the right direction. Martin went 
to his classes and gave his time and thoughts to his 
work. Sam was good-natured, and, having plenty 
of time, he patronized Martin to a certain extent, 
and was of use to him. He took him to the pub- 
lic library, and introduced him to some desirable 
people. One evening he went to his room. 

“Martin, would you like to go out to-night? ” 

“Where?” 

“ Over on Church Street, a little entertainment, 
a sort of an exhibition ; I am sure you would like 
it.” 

“ Is it free, or is there an admittance fee? ” 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 


Ill 


“ It will not cost you anything. I have a couple 
of tickets. You had better go. You can study 
better after a little recreation.” 

“ Thank you. You are very kind. I believe I 
will. I have not got much money to spend on pleas- 
ure, and not much time to spare to enjoy it if I 
had.” 

When they reached the place Black and Martin 
were given seats by the obliging usher in the dress 
circle of the most fashionable theater in the city. 

“ What sort of a place is this? ” 

“ It is the Amusement Hall, built for the purpose 
of exhibitions of this kind.” 

“ Do they have them often? ” 

“ O yes, nearly every night.” 

The curtain went up, and Martin was fascina- 
ted by the scene before him. He enjoyed the play, 
much to the amusement of Black, who meant him 
no harm, and only wanted alittlefun. Sometime 
after Black called again at Martin’s room and in- 
vited him to another little entertainment. 

“Is it the same place that we went before? ” 

“ No, this is different; this is all music, a kind 
of a concert.” 

“ I would like to go, but I hate to go at your ex- 
pense; it is not quite right.” 

“ O 3"es, that is all right, I get my money from 
father, you pay him your board, and that includes 
these little entertainments.” 

“ I am much obliged for your kindness. I am 
very fond of music, and will be glad to go.” 


II2 


A minister’s probation. 


They went to the Grand Opera House, and Mar- 
tin enjoyed the music to his heart’s content. A 
few evenings after, as he passed through the hall, 
Alice, who was standing in the parlor door, 
stopped him. 

“ Mr. Martin, why do you never go out any?” 

“I do.” 

“ I never see you only at church. Where do 
you go?” 

“ I have been to several lectures and to an exhi- 
bition and to a concert.” 

“ I do not mean to such places as that; I mean 
to parties and socials.” 

“ I am not invited; I am a stranger, and cannot 
expect to be.” 

“That is the way to get acquainted. I have 
an invitation for you to a little social Thursday 
evening at Mr. White’s. Will you go?” 

“ I do not know them. Where do they live?” 

“Around on Fifth Street. I know them. If 
you will go with me, I will introduce you.” 

“ Certainly. I shall be happy to go.” 

Martin went to the little social, which was in the 
home of a prominent member of the Church. He 
was a little startled when he saw the hostess was 
serving wine. He did not have pronounced views 
on the subject of temperance, but he felt out of 
place. He took a glass and sipped a little, while 
he talked with a young lady whom he had just met. 

“Do you enjoy these parties, Mr. Martin?” 
she inquired. 


. THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. II3 

“I am enjoying this/’ he replied, “but I do 
not go out much.” 

“ I am so glad you are here. So many of the 
young men at the seminary act as if they consid- 
ered it wrong to go to any place except to church 
and to prayer meeting.” 

“ I do not feel that way.” 

Alice thought it her duty to introduce him to all 
her girl friends. Other invitations followed, and 
he soon went out more than was for his good. 

Sam introduced him to some young men, and 
privately told them the story of the theater and 
opera. They regarded it as a good joke, and re- 
peated it. By mutual consent the theater was 
called by them Amusement Hall, and the opera 
house Concert Hall. He wrote to Phebe about 
the exhibitions and concerts that he attended. One 
morning at the breakfast table he spoke to Mr. 
Black about the propriety of serving wine at even- 
ing entertainments. 

“ There is nothing in that,” said his host. Ev- 
erybody does it. Everybody drinks wine. You 
remember the account in the Bible of Jesus mak- 
ing wine out of water at the wedding. They evi- 
dently had wine at weddings in Bible times, and 
the Savior performed a miracle to furnish them 
with it on that occasion.” 

“It may be all right,” replied Martin, “but it 
seems to me that it leads to dissipation.” 

“It does,” said Sam with emphasis. “Near- 
ly all the boys that I know who drink formed 
8 


A minister’s probation. 


II4 

the taste at parties and weddings and recep- 
tions.” 

“ I hope you do not know any that drink to ex- 
cess,” said his mother. 

“ I know one or two,” he replied. 

That evening he inquired: “ Martin, can you 
play?” 

“ Play what? ” 

“Cards.” 

“No.” 

“ Would you like to learn? ” 

“No, I regard it as wrong.” 

“Regard what as wrong?” 

“ Gambling.” 

“ Who said anything about gambling? ” 

“ I beg your pardon. I have always thought that 
card playing and gambling are the same.” 

“I can tell you they are not. I play cards, but 
I do not gamble.” 

know nothing about it. I have never seen 
either.” 

“You are as well off as if you had. I was go- 
ing to invite you to the club ; but as you neither 
drink nor play, you would not enjoy it. Here is 
a ticket to Amusement Hall. I cannot use it to- 
night; you might as well go if 3^ou can.” 

“ Thank you. I believe I can.” 

For the first time he went alone, and was seated 
near a young lady whom he had met at a social. 

“Why, Mr. Martin ! You here? I am glad to 
see you. Do you come often?’ 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. II5 

“ Occasionally.” 

A few days later one of the professors told Mar- 
tin that Dr. Smith, the president of the seminary, 
desired a private interview with him. 

Martin went to the audience chamber without 
the slightest misgiving. Holding his hat in his 
hand, he said: “Professor Allison told me that 
you wanted to see me.” 

“ I do. Be seated. It is a matter of the gravest 
concern.” 

“ Is there anything wrong?” 

“I am afraid there is.” 

“What is it?” 

“I am surprised that you should ask. I think 
you must know.” 

“ I do not.” 

“Then it becomes my painful duty to tell you. 
The faculty has reliable information that you are 
not leading just the right kind of a life. 

“In what respect?” 

“ Socially. You frequent disreputable places, 
where any Christian ought to be ashamed to be 
seen, to say nothing of a young man who is pre- 
paring to preach the everlasting gospel.” 

“ I go with Miss Alice. I did not know there 
was any harm in it.” 

“It is wrong, all wrong; more than that, it is 
contrary to the rules of the institution. I would 
not have believed that Mr. Black would have per- 
mitted his daughter to go to such places. I am 
more astonished than ever,” 


Il6 A minister’s probation. 

“ I have never seen anything wrong, unless it is 
the wine. I do not altogether approve of that; but 
Mr. Black says everybody uses it, and that it is all 
right if not used to excess.” 

“Young preachers had better let wine alone. 
You do not drink, I hope?” 

“No, sir; not habitually. I take a little wine 
when it is offered at parties.” 

“ I am not talking about parties.” 

“ What are you talking about?” 

“I am talking about theaters and operas, the 
path that leads down to destruction. It is bad for 
anybody, unpardonable for a preacher.” 

“I was never at a theater or an opera in my 
life.” 

“You were not?” 

“ No, sir.” 

There was a long and painful silence. Finally 
Dr. Smith said: “ You can go, Mr. Martin.” 

The faculty investigated more closely the ru- 
mors that had reached them, and were convinced 
of their truth. 

Miss Wilson was seen, and she reluctantly ad- 
mitted that she had seen Martin at the theater, 
that he sat near her, and they talked between the 
acts. She did not want her name mentioned in 
the affair. She went to such places herself once 
in a while; she did not consider it wrong, and she 
certainly did not want to injure the young theolog- 
ical student, to whom she was almost a stranger. 
After consultation Dr. Smith wrote to Dr. Tag- 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. II7 

gart. He told him in concise terms that Martin 
was leading a life calculated to bring reproach 
upon the Church. That he was very marked 
in his attentions to the daughter of Mr. Black, ac- 
companying her to parties and balls, and that he 
attended the theater and opera with her brother 
and his fast friends and sometimes alone, and, 
worst of all, when accused of it he had denied it. 
He added: “ We feel obliged to send him home, 
but will suspend judgment until we hear from 
you.’’ 

Dr. Taggart received the letter on Saturday. 
Had a bombshell bursted in his room, he would not 
have been more surprised or more disturbed. He 
preached his usual two sermons on the Sabbath, and 
on Monday he harnessed his faithful horse to his 
buggy and started for Allegheny. He went first 
to see Dr. Smith. 

“ I came to see you about your letter. There is 
surely something wrong.” 

“ I am sorry to say there is.” 

“ Paul Martin does not attend playhouses.” 

“We have indisputable evidence that he does.” 

“ If he does, he has been led off, but he will not 
deny it. He is truthful.” 

“ He told me that he never was at a theater or 
an opera in his life.” 

“Then he was not.” 

“ He certainly has been.” 

“The leopard may change its spots, but Paul 
Martin will not lie.” 


Il8 A minister’s probation. 

“ He had been both to the theater and the opera 
when he told me he had not,” replied Dr. Smith, 
somewhat nettled. 

“ There is some mistake. I will sift it to the bot- 
tom.” 

“ I sincerely hope you will.” 

“ How does he get along at his books? ” 

“ He is doing very well in his studies. I am 
afraid he is lacking in piety. It is a pity he did 
not take to law or medicine; then it would not have 
been so bad.” 

“ If ever a man was called of God to preach, 
that man is Paul Martin. You just wait.” 

“ We are waiting.” 

Dr. Taggart got the proper address and went to 
see Martin. He was not at home. 

“ I am Dr. Taggart. I am his pastor at Pigeon 
Creek. Can I go to his room and wait until he 
comes? ” 

“Yes, you can wait. Come into the parlor. We 
shall have supper in a few minutes.” 

Martin did not come, and Dr. Taggart took sup- 
per with the family. Determined to get at the facts 
in regard to Paul, he asked some leading questions. 
“ Does Martin go out much?” 

“ Very little,” replied Mrs. Black. “ He goes to 
lectures, and very rarely to a social.” 

“He is not much of a ladies’ man,” said 
Alice. 

“ He has no right to be. He is engaged to marry 
a most excellent young woman at home.” 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. Up 

“ Engaged ? That is the reason I have had such 
uphill work. ” 

“Alice! Alice!” said her mother, reprov- 
ingly, “ Dr. Taggart does not understand 
you.” 

“Yes he does;” and, turning to the doctor, she 
explained, “ I do not want to marry him; I only 
want to help him have a good time.” 

“ I am afraid you have succeeded too well, for 
his good,” replied the Doctor severely. “They 
are talking at the seminary about sending him 
home.” 

“What for?” 

“ They say he attends theaters and operas. If 
he does, I should not blame them. They are not 
fit places for any Christian, much less a preacher. 
I have not seen Paul, but Dr. Smith says he de- 
nies it. I am here to straighten it out, and I am 
going to do it.” 

“ Did you come all the way from Pigeon Creek 
for that?” inquired Sam. 

“Yes. It is no trifling errand. A soul is in 
danger. I am his pastor, and must give an ac- 
count of my stewardship.” 

Sam excused himself and went directly to the 
residence of Dr. Smith. They had met before, 
and introductions were not necessary. 

“ I came to see you about Martin. His preach- 
er is at our house, and says he is likely to be ex- 
pelled. Martin is all right. He has not done any- 
thing out of the way.” 


120 A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

“ Do you know anything about the charges 
against him ? ’’ 

“ Yes, I expect I know more than you do.’’ 

“Are you willing to testify?” 

“ That is what I am here for.” 

“ Then I am glad to see you. We want some- 
body that is not afraid to tell what they know.” 

“lam not afraid of anything. What is it that 
you are trying to find out? ” 

“About Martin’s habits. He is accused of at- 
tending theaters and such places. That is bad 
enough. He denies it; and, if the charges are true, 
that is worse.” 

“ I know all about it. He has gone a few times 
to the theater, and a time or two to the opera, but 
he does not know it. I am the cause of the trouble. 
I am to blame, and I am willing to bear it.” 

Sam gave a full explanation, and assured the 
learned president that Martin never dreamed of 
Amusement Hall being the theater, or Concert 
Hall being an opera house. 

Dr. Smith scarcely comprehended. “Do you 
not know that such places lead down to hell?” he 
asked. 

“ No, I do not. I consider it a very pleasant 
way to spend an evening.” 

“You? the son of a ruling elder? I have no 
patience with you.” 

“I do not belong to the Church, and I did not 
come here to be lectured. I came to explain about 
Martin. I got him into it, and I thought it my 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 


I2I 


duty to get him out of it. I will not detain you 
any longer.” 

“ Wait amoment. I do notwant to hurt your feel- 
ings. Will you tell Martin what you have told me ? ’ ’ 

‘‘ Yes, if you want me to.” 

“I do.” 

“Are you going to expel him? ” 

“ I cannot say yet. Try and see him to-night, 
and tell him at once.” 

“All right.” 

Sam was anxious to get through with the un- 
pleasant duty, so he returned home and knocked 
on Martin’s door. 

“ Martin, will you come to my room a min- 
ute? I have something to tell you.” 

“I cannot leave Dr. Taggart.” 

“I want to tell you while he is here.” 

“ Go on. I will excuse you.” 

When they were alone Sam began: “I had no 
idea I was getting you into any trouble. I only 
wanted to make it pleasant for you. I may as well 
tell you at once, and be done with it. Amusement 
Hall is the theater, and Concert Hall is the opera 
house.” 

Martin gasped for breath, and sunk into the 
nearest chair. 

“ The plays at that house are all moral and high- 
toned,” continued Sam, “ and it will not hurt any- 
body to see them. It would do Dr. Smith and Dr. 
Taggart both good. They need something to take 
the bigotry out of them.” 


122 A minister’s probation. 

“I am sorry,” replied Martin. ‘‘I know you 
meant it kindly.” 

“ I know you have not been hurt, and I hope 
you will forgive me for the trouble I have caused 
you.” 

“Yes. It is easy to forgive a kindness, even if 
it was a mistaken kindness. I enjoyed the — the — 
the performances very much, but I would not have 
gone if I had known.” 

“You mean the plays. I thought you needed 
some recreation, when you spent so much time on 
the Bible and Catechism and Confession of Faith. 
I could not stand it.” 

“You are probably not a Christian. I derive 
my greatest pleasure from my studies.” 

“I am glad you do, and I will not be in your 
way again. We are still friends?” 

“ Certainly.” 

Martin went back to Dr. Taggart, and that 
worthy gentleman soon had the satisfaction of 
knowing that his tiresome journey had not been 
in vain. He had sifted the mystery to the bottom, 
as he had promised to do, and had possession of 
the facts. He stayed that night with Martin, and, 
while he reproved him, he did not condemn him. 
Martin went early in the morning and made a 
manly explanation to Dr. Smith. It could hardl}^ 
be called a confession, except that he confessed 
that he had been at both the theater and the opera 
house. He wanted it distinctly understood that 
he was not aware of it, and. he voluntarily prom- 


THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY. 1 23 

ised that he would not repeat the offense. The 
faculty forgave him and restored him to favor. 

Dr. Taggart went home and told Martin’s father 
that he had been suddenly called to Allegheny on 
business, and had stayed overnight with Paul, who 
was well and doing well in his studies. 

Martin was never seen at a play again. In due 
course of time he finished the work and was li- 
censed to preach the everlasting gospel, He re- 
turned to his country home, carrying with him the 
respect and the best wishes of the faculty, as well 
as of the students of the seminary. 


CHAPTER XL 
The Ordination. 

It was not the custom to ordain a preacher until 
he received a call to a pastorate. Paul preached, 
by special invitation, in a considerable number of 
pulpits. Dr. Taggart not only invited him, but 
urged him to preach for him. He begged to be 
excused, and the doctor yielded, knowing that he 
would be more apt to become embarrassed there 
than any place else. The Ret^. Samuel Edwards 
had been called to another field of labor, and the 
mission in Ohio was vacant. Chartiers Presbytery 
had been requested to supply the vacancy, and 
Martin was suggested for the work. It was not 
thought best to send a young, inexperienced licen- 
tiate to so important a place ; but after he had 
preached acceptably in many churches, and the 
people as well as the preachers were pleased with 
him, he was offered the appointment.’ After care- 
ful and prayerful consideration, and a consultation 
with Phebe Fergus, in which she consented to ac- 
company him, he accepted the important charge. 

Formal notice was given in all the pulpits that 
the Presbytery would meet in Pigeon Creek 
church for the purpose of ordaining Paul Martin 
to the holy office of the ministry. As an ordained 
minister he could administer the sacraments of 
( 124 ) 


THE ORDINATION. 


125 


baptism and the Lord’s Supper. He was going 
into what was considered almost a wilderness, 
among irreligious people. It was important that 
he be competent to baptize his converts and the 
children of the members of the Church, most of 
whom had emigrated from Western Pennsylvania. 
The ministers and elders and many of the com- 
mon people went to that meeting of the Presby- 
tery from all over the country. Dr. Brown, of 
Canonsburg, was there, his countenance beaming 
with joy that one of his boys was to be set apart to 
that high calling. 

Paul preached the sermon. It was called his 
“ trial” sermon, and it was a trial. It was a com- 
pliment to the members of Pigeon Creek congre- 
gation that the Presbytery met there, but any 
place else would have suited Paul better. The 
text assigned him was: “Let not your heart be 
troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.” 
The people did believe in God and his Son, and 
they also believed in Paul Martin. They had 
known him from his infancy, and none of them 
doubted his call to his work, or his ability to do it 
well. Some of them were troubled because he 
was going out from among them, and that Phebe 
was going with him ; but they did not doubt his 
success, or that he would carve out for himself a 
name and fame, until all the pulpits in the com- 
munity to which he was going would be wanting 
him to proclaim from them the good news of sal- 
vation. 


126 


A minister’s probation. 


Although he preached to his father and mother 
and Tom, and Phebe and her parents and Dr. 
Brown, and all the rest, he did it as if helped by 
the Holy Spirit. He was actuated by no desire to 
show off his attainments. He was embarrassed 
in the presence of his audience, but he recognized 
the propriety of meeting there, that all his old 
neighbors and friends might have an opportunity 
to hear him preach and might witness his ordina- 
tion. He owed them that pleasure, and he only 
hoped that none of them would be ashamed of 
him. His hopes were more than realized. A 
great many kind remarks were made about his 
carefully prepared sermon, and the only criticism 
that it called forth was, “A leetle too short,” 
which was said in such a pleasant manner that it 
did not amount to a criticism. 

A basket dinner was served during the intermis- 
sion. Paul’s talents and gifts were freely dis- 
cussed in a friendly spirit. He was twenty-six 
years old, and had spent nine years in prep- 
aration for his work, six in college and three 
in the seminary. It was the unanimous verdict, 
not only of the Presbytery but of the people, 
that he had paid the price and deserved his suc- 
cess. 

His ordination that afternoon and his wedding 
that was to take place the next week were the all- 
absorbing topics of conversation. It was Tues- 
day, and they talked without the usual restraints 
of the Sabbath. A group of women surrounded 


THE ORDINATION. 1 27 

Mrs. Fergus. “ Everybody is invited. What will 
you do with all the people?” 

“Yes, we did not want to slight any one. They 
will all find room somewhere. If it does not rain, 
a good many can stay in the yard.” 

“Are you going to have a cooked dinner?” 

“O yes, and that reminds me that I wanted to 
see some of you about helping us. We will need 
help Wednesday, for most of the work will have 
to be done then; there will not be much time 
Thursday before ten o’clock.” 

“ I will go Wednesday.” 

“So will I.” 

“You can count on me.” 

“O Mrs. Fergus, let us girls come early on 
Thursday morning and set the table. Can’t we?” 

“Yes, I was going to ask some of you.” 

“Are you going to set it in the orchard?” 

“If it does not rain; if it does, we will set it in 
the barn.” 

“ It won’t rain.” 

“ Say, where is she going to stand? ” 

“They are going to stand on the porch, where 
everybody can see them.” 

“Goody! goody!” and they rushed off to tell 
the news of the wonderful wedding to their less 
forfunate sisters who were not invited as yet to 
help in any part of the approaching festivities. 

The loan of dishes, knives, and spoons, pots, 
pans, and kettles was freely offered and as freely 
accepted. The fine tablecloth in several house- 


128 A minister’s probation. 

holds was to be done up for the interesting occa- 
sion, for, as it was to be a congregational wed- 
ding, they did not say, “ Send over and get what 
you need,” but, “Just tell me, and I will take you 
anything I have got that you need.” 

The young men were quietly circling around on 
a secret mission. They wanted to express their 
appreciation by a substantial token of respect, and, 
after much thought, they decided to buy a genuine 
gold watch, and have “Paul and Phebe ” in- 
scribed on the inside of the case. Watches were 
were not common in those days, and it was a big 
undertaking, but they were equal to it. A sub- 
scription paper was presented to all the men, and 
the utmost secrecy was enjoined. Not a Martin 
nor a Fergus was permitted to know a breath 
about it. The money was given to Dr. Brown, 
and he was to get the watch and take it to the 
wedding and make the presentation speech. The 
last penny was paid in, when the ringing of the 
bell called the people together to witness the or- 
dination. 

The sermon had been preached in the woods, and 
these services were held in the same place. Amid 
a profound hush, Paul knelt for the laying on of 
the hands of the Presbytery. Dr. Taggart led in 
the consecration pra3^er. He was an old man, 
with silvery locks, and his feeble voice trembled 
as he prayed for the blessings of heaven to rest 
upon the young man whom he had baptized a quar- 
ter of a century before. 


THE ORDINATION. 


129 


Martin was consecrated to the service of the 
Lord but a few feet from the spot where he had 
received his first communion. It was a place of 
hallowed associations. He rose with a conscious- 
ness of a peace which the world can neither give 
nor take away. He was “charged’^ by a minis- 
terial brother appointed to perform that duty. He 
was publicly urged to be faithful and diligent and 
patient in the performance of his pastoral work. 
His parish was to be a new and an untried one, 
and he was urged to take unto himself the whole 
armor of God, that he might be able to stand in 
the evil day, and having done all to stand. He 
was charged to have his feet shod with the prep- 
aration of the gospel of peace, and above all to 
take the shield of faith, wherewith he would be 
able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. 
He was charged to take the helmet of salvation, 
and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of 
God. He was reminded that he would not find 
his pathway, at all times and in all places, strewn 
with roses, but that he would be called upon to 
encounter thorns and thistles. At the conclusion 
of the charge the vast throng of people united in 
singing : 

“Goodness and mercy all my life 
Shall surely follow me; 

And in God’s house for evermore 
My dwelling place shall be.” 

The benediction was pronounced, and nearly 
every stranger who had not met Martin sought 
9 


130 A minister’s probation. 

an introduction. They congratulated him upon 
the sermon he had preached, and also upon the 
new field of labor he was about to enter. The 
day was nearly gone, and the people wended their 
way homeward with thankful hearts. Paul prom- 
ised to assist the Rev. Mr. Kerr with his commun- 
ion services the next Sabbath. He was glad of 
the invitation, since it would relieve him of the 
danger of having again to preach to his home 
folks. That it was twelve miles distant was a mat- 
ter of no consideration, for his time and Tom’s 
Charley were always at his disposal. He visited 
Phebe the day after his ordination, and on Thurs- 
day he made the trip, that he might be rested and 
ready for his pulpit work on Friday. He would 
have so few opportunities to preach before leav- 
ing that he was nervously anxious to do his best, 
that he might leave a good impression behind him 
when he went to sow the seed given him in the new 
soil beyond the Ohio. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A Bereavement. 

On the Thursday morning following the ordi- 
nation Phebe Fergus did not go to the kitchen 
as usual, and her mother went to her room and 
peeped in. She was sleeping, and Mrs. Fergus 
did not disturb her. An hour later she went back, 
and found her tossing as if in pain. 

“Are you sick, Phebe?'’ 

“Yes, ma’am. I am afraid I am.” 

“ What is the matter? ’ 

“ I do not know; my head aches terribly. Is it 
time to get up? ” 

“You have a fever.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Help me up.” 

“ Do not get up, dear.” 

“ I must; I want to go to the sitting room. I 
cannot get my breath here. It is so hot.” 

“ Father, come and see Phebe.” 

“Take me up, father; take me up ! ” she cried, 
as he entered the room. 

“ What is the matter, my dear? ” 

“ Take me up. I cannot breathe.” 

The mother got cool, fresh water, and while she 
bathed the burning brow the father was getting 
Andy off for the family physician. 


( 131 ) 


132 A minister’s probation. 

“ Do not lose a minute. Tell him she has a 
high fever, and to be here as soon as he can.” 

He went back to the bedside of his only daugh- 
ter, his one ewe lamb. 

“ Take me up,” she moaned. 

“ Do you want to sit on my lap ? ” 

“ No, I cannot breathe. Take me up.” 

Such simple remedies as were at hand and could 
do no harm were administerd. A bed was put up 
in the sitting room, and she was tenderl}^ carried 
to it. Isaac rode over for Mrs. Martin, and they 
waited anxiously for the doctor. He was not at 
home, but Andy followed him, and he reached 
them about noon. 

“ Why, Phebe, what is the matter?” 

“I cannot get my breath; let me up.” 

“Lie still, dear.” 

“I won’t do it. I am not going to lie still. Come 
on, come on, come on!” she shouted. Dr. Clark 
looked grave while he felt her pulse, and asked a 
few questions of the distressed parents. He ad- 
ministered a sedative, and prepared some medi- 
cine. He stayed a long time, and left saying he 
would be back in the morning. The father fol- 
lowed him to the gate. 

“ What is the matter with her. Doctor?” 

“ She has a fever.” 

“Bad?” • 

“Yes.” 

“ Is there any danger? ” 

Dr. Clark hesitated. He was a good doctor 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


133 


and a conscientious Christian man. He could not 
tell his lifelong friend what he thought, so he said: 
“ Give her her medicine, and we can tell better in 
the morning.” 

Phebe raved all that night. The doctor came 
early. Tom Martin and Andy Fergus were sitting 
on the porch. It required the constant attention of 
the attendants to keep the patient in bed. The 
physician looked helplessly on. He went out to 
the porch. 

“ Where is Paul? ” 

“ He has gone to Chartier, to assist at the com- 
munion.” 

“When will he be back?” 

“ Monday.” 

“Andy, I want you to go to Washington and 
bring Dr. Gray. I will write him a note while 
you are getting your horse.” 

“ Is she dangerous? ” 

“Yes.” 

Andy bounded down the steps. 

“Tom, go for Paul, and prepare him for the 
worst. 

Tom caught him by the arm. “ Doctor, couldn’t 
she possibly get well? ” 

“ I am afraid that she will not.” 

“O Dr. Clark,” exclaimed Mr. Fergus, who 
had followed the doctor to the porch. A deathly 
pallor overspread his face as he comprehended the 
decision. The information had not been intended 
for him, but the doctor realized that perhaps it was 


134 ^ MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

best, for he would be obliged to know and that 
soon. He turned to the stricken father. 

“ We will do all that can be done. Get me some 
paper. I want to write a note. I am going to send 
Andy to Washington for Dr. Gray.'’ 

“Yes, yes. Come to the kitchen;” and he led 
the way. Dr. Gray was a specialist, and might 
accomplish wonders. Hope revived, but his heart 
bled anew as he heard his daughter’s wail: “ Take 
me up ! let me go ! ” 

The two young men started on their errands at 
the same time. 

Tom was dazed. “Doctor, what shall I tell 
him?” 

“Tell him that Phebe is sick, and he must come 
home.” 

“ Shall I stop him in the middle of his sermon?” 

“ No, I should not do that. There is no such 
hurry. You had better not let him know that you 
are there until the sermon is over. She will not 
be any worse.” 

“See liere, doctor! do you think that Dr. Gray 
can do anythinrc for her? ” 

“No.” 

“ Why are you sending for him, then? ” 

“We will all feel better when it is over. We 
give her water when she is thirsty, but we do not 
expect it to cure her.” 

Andy was dumb with grief, and wondered how 
Tom could talk so much, but he remembered that 
it was not his sister whose life the fever was so sure- 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


135 


ly burning away. Tom wondered how Andy 
could be so calm, but he remembered that he 
had always had her and did not realize what it 
would be to lose her. 

When Tom reached the church the people were 
singing, and he sat down on the steps to listen. 
When they were through Paul rose in the pulpit 
and said: “ I call your attention to the first verse 
of the twenty-seventh chapter of Proverbs.” He 
then read in a clear voice: “ Boast not thyself of 
to-morrow ; for thou knowest not what a day may 
bring forth? ” 

Tom heard every word of the sermon distinctly 
through the open door, and when it was finished 
he walked away a short distance, that he might 
gain strength for the work before him. He wait- 
ed until the intermission, which was but a few 
minutes and then sought his brother. 

“ Why, Tom ! are you here? ” 

“Yes, I heard you preach.” 

“You did not come for the purpose of hearing 
me ? ” 

“ No.” 

They walked out of hearing of any one. 

“ Have you had your lunch? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, Paul, I hate to tell you, but Phebe is 
sick, and I have come for you.” 

“ O, is that it? ” 

“Yes.”* 

“Well, that is nothing; I will go as soon as I 


136 A minister’s probation. 

speak to Mr. Kerr. I am sorry she is sick, but I 
do not mind going home.” 

Tom wanted him to understand how serious it 
was, but he thought he could tell him on the way. 
He had told Mr. Kerr, and when that gentleman 
shook Paul by the hand at parting, and said fer- 
vently, “ May God give you grace for every trial 
before you,” Paul thought of his coming life in the 
West, and responded: “ Thank you, sir.” 

The brothers returned together, and went direct- 
ly to the home of Phebe. Tom tried to obey the 
injunction of the doctor, and prepare Paul for the 
worst, but he would not be prepared. It seemed 
to Tom that he was stupid, but he must let him 
know, even if he had to tell him what Dr. Clark 
had said. 

“Paul.” 

“Well?” 

“ Phebe is pretty bad.” 

“Yes, I suppose so, or you would not have 
come for me. It is very kind of you. I am much 
obliged to you. You are the best brother any 
man ever had. Phebe thinks you are about the 
best living man next to me.” 

They rode on for several miles and talked but 
little. 

“Paul.” 

“Well?” 

“Phebe has a fever.” 

“Is it a fever? I have not heard of any fever 
around, have you? ” 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


137 


“No, none but hers.” 

Another long silence. 

“Paul.” 

“Well?” 

“Dr. Clark told me to tell you that Phebe is 
pretty bad.” 

“Have they had a doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“She must be bad.” 

Then was Tom’s opportunity, but his heart 
failed him. Another long silence, longer than 
before. It was Paul who spoke. “Tom, do 
you suppose that Phebe will be well by Thurs- 
day, or do you think she will have a long spell 
of sickness? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

They rode on. 

“Tom.” 

“Well?” 

“Is Phebe in bed? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Let us ride a little faster.” 

It was coming to Paul. He began to realize 
that Phebe was sick. They rode up to the gate, 
and Isaac took charge of their horses. 

“ Has Dr. Gray come?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dr. Gray? Did you send for Dr. Gray? Is 
Dr. Clark not at home?” 

Isaac burst into tears as he replied: “ They are 
both in the house.” 


138 A minister’s probation. 

Paul rushed in, and was met by Dr. Clark. 
“ Be careful, she will not likely know you.” 

“ Not know me? Is she out of her head?” 
“Yes, she is delirious. Did Tom not tell you ? ” 
“ No, he did not tell me anything.” 

He fell on his knees at the side of the bed, and 
it seemed as if his heart would break as he 
moaned: “Phebe, O Phebe.” 

‘ ‘ T ake me up ! let me go ! ” 

“ Phebe, darling !” 

“ What are you doing? Let me go I” 

Paul was stunned. He turned to the doctor. 
“ Why don’t you do something? ” 

“ We are doing all that can be done.” 

“Is it the medicine that is affecting her? ” 

“ No, it is the disease.” 

“ What is the matter? ” 

“ Fever.” 

“ How long will it last? ” 

“ We cannot tell.” 

All that night they watched and waited. Satur- 
day morning brought Dr. Clark, accompanied by 
Dr. Gray, who had stayed overnight with him. 
Paul besieged them. “ Can you do nothing at 
all?” 

“ Nothing at all.” 

“ What is the use of having a doctor if you can’t 
do anything?” 

Dr. Clark would not have forgiven so rude a 
speech at any other time. His heart ached for 
the young man as well as for the parents, who 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


139 


were bowing beneath the rod, realizing that it was 
held in a loving Father’s hand. No one said any- 
thing to Paul about resignation, for he was a min- 
ister, and knew all about those things. 

The fever raged with but little cessation through- 
out Saturday, Sabbath, and Monday. Tuesday 
the fire seemed to go out for want of fuel. She 
slept a little and took no notice of any one. In 
the evening she looked around as if wondering 
what it all meant. 

Paul bent over her. “You are sick, darling:. ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Do you feel any better? ” 

“ Yes, I am going now. Is it late? ” 

“ Phebe, don’t you know me?” 

She looked at him as if to gather her scattered 
thoughts. “Why, yes; you are Paul.” Then 
she closed her eyes and again slept. 

The doctor left his orders. “ I would not give 
her any more medicine. Make her as comfort- 
able as you can. There will probably be a change 
about the middle of the night.” 

He went away. There was nothing more that 
he could do. On the road he met Dr. Taggart. 
“ She cannot last until morning, and I wish you 
could stay with them and look after Paul. I do 
not like the way he acts.” 

The Doctor could stay, and sent word to his 
family. Everybody was very kind to the afflicted 
parents. Neighbors came and went. A few 
waited on the porch. 


140 


A minister’s probation. 


“ Mother !” 

“What, darling.” 

“ I am sick.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ Father !” 

“Phebe!” He took her hand. 

“ Good-by, father,” 

‘ ‘ Where are you going ? ’ ’ 

“ Do you not know? I am going to heaven, 
and I am not a bit afraid, and I always thought I 
would be” — 

She panted for breath, and they stepped back 
to give her more air. It was nearly midnight. 
Paul laid his hand on her forehead. It was icy 
cold. Her breath came in gasps. 

“Phebe!” 

“ Good-by, Paul; let me go now.” 

She gasped again, once more, her eyes closed, 
her lips quivered. All was over. 

Tears flowed freely, hearts were bowed down 
in grief, but there was no loud lamentation. Phebe 
was gone. They would go to her, but she would 
not return to them. 

Paul did not seem to comprehend. “Is she 
worse? ” 

Dr. Taggart took him by the arm. “ She is 
dead. Come out into the yard, and you will feel 
better.” 

“ I will never feel better Did you say she is 
dead?” 

“ Yes, and we rnust submit to a God of justice.” 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


I4I 

‘‘ Queer justice that.’’ 

“You must not talk so.” 

“I cannot help it. I wish I could swear. I 
think it would be a relief. 

They had reached the back yard. 

“ If you met the God of the universe face to 
face, would you dare question his justice?” 

“Yes, I would.” 

“ Paul Martin ! You are an ordained minister.” 

“Get out of my way I ” he replied , as he pushed 
the feeble old man roughly to one side and start- 
ed on. 

“ Where are you going? ” 

“ I am going to die.” 

“Tom! Tom Martin!” 

Tom ran out. 

“ Follow Paul. He is crazy. Do not let him 
make way with himself,” 

Paul went into the orchard, closely followed by 
his faithful brother. He stopped under an apple 
tree and lay down on the ground. Tom sat down 
to watch and wait. After a silence which seemed 
as if it would last forever, he groaned: “ O God 
if there is a God, help me to bear it.” 

Still Tom waited and watched. 

Paul lay gazing up at the stars. He spoke not 
a word; he shed not a tear. 

Again he moaned: “ O God, if there is a God, 
help me to bear it.” 

Tom dared not interrupt him. He felt that it 
was best for him to be alone. 


142 


A minister's probation. 


Paul sat up. “ O God, help me to bear it !" He 
clasped his hands and bowed his head; he sprang 
to his feet; “ O God ! My God ! help me to bear 
it! ” His whole frame shook in agony. Tears 
flowed like rain. Tom could stand it no longer. 
He went up to him. 

“Paul." 

“Why, Tom I are you here?" 

“Yes, I came for you. Let us go to the house." 

“ Perhaps we had better. It is getting chilly." 

Tom took hold of his arm. His teeth chattered. 
Evidently he was having a chill. They reached 
the back yard, and Paul sat down on a stump. “I 
cannot walk another step." 

“ I will help you." 

He made another effort, reeled, and fell. Tom 
caught him and laid him tenderly on the grass, 
then ran around the house to the front porch. 

“ Father, Paul is sick. Hadn’t we better try to 
get him home ? " 

“Yes. Where is he?" 

Tom led the way. Willing hands soon had the 
horses harnessed to the farm wagon. A bed was 
placed in it, and Paul was laid thereon. His 
brother-in-law, Fred Berry, did the driving, while 
Tom sat by him, and tried to soothe him. His fa- 
ther went on before to prepare the way. A bed 
was hastily put up in the Martin sitting room, and 
Paul was carried in and laid on it, crying out in 
agony: “Take me up I let me go ! " 

He was sick or insane, or both. Dr. Clark was 


A BEREAVEMENT. 


143 


sent for, and reached him about ten o’clock. He 
did not seem as much surprised as they had ex- 
pected him to be. 

“ What is the matter with him, doctor? ” 

“ Fever.” 

“ Is it the same as Phebe? Is it contagious?” 

“No, not exactly. Paul has not taken any 
food and has lost too much sleep. His nerves are 
all unstrung. He has been greatly excited, and 
his brain is affected. No one else will be likely to 
take it.” 

He prepared his medicine and gave his orders. 
Mr. Martin followed him to the door: “ Will he 
live?” 

“ The chances are against him.” 

The fever increased, and he raved like a mad- 
man. On Thursday it took four men to keep him 
in his bed. That was to have been his wedding 
day. Phebe lay in her coffin out on the porch, 
where all could pass around and see her. She was 
robed in the simple white dress that was to have 
been her wedding gown. A white rose lay in her 
hand. Everybody said: “How natural she 
looks! ” A large procession followed her to her 
last resting place in Pigeon Creek churchyard. 
Strong men wept as the earth rattled down on the 
lid of her coffin. Dr. Taggart tried to adminis- 
ter words of comfort to the afflicted family, but he 
knew not what to say. “ I was dumb, I opened 
not my mouth, because thou did’st it,” was about 
the amount of it. 


144 ^ minister’s probation. 

When the grave was well rounded up, they went 
back to their homes to take up the burdens and 
duties of life again. Meantime Paul raved on. 

Dr. Gray was again sent for, and did all that he 
could. The patient had a strong hold on life. 
Seven days — fourteen days — twenty-one days be- 
fore the fever died down. Dr. Clark stood at his 
bedside as he had stood at that other bedside three 
weeks before, and gave his orders. “ I would not 
give him any more medicine. Make him as com- 
fortable as possible. There will probably be a 
change about the middle of the night.” 

Tom slipped out and waited his coming. “Is 
there no hope ? ” 

“Yes, there is some hope; but, Tom, if I were in 
your place, I would leave it all in the hands of a 
higher power. I would not ask for his life to be 
spared.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“He might live and ” — 

“And what? ” 

“And not be the same that he was. His brain 
has been badly affected. If he should live, I do 
not know how it will be. Keep him quiet, and do 
not deceive him about anything. If he asks any 
questions, tell him the truth.” 

Tom went in resigned. How slowly the hands 
moved around the face of the old clock. The fe- 
ver was gone and Paul lay in a sort of a stupor. 
As it neared midnight he opened his eyes. 

“ Mother ! ” 


A. BEREAVEMENT. 


145 


“ What, Paul? ” 

“Am 1 dying? 

“ No, I hope not.” 

“ It seems to me that I am. I cannot move.” 

“ Do not try; you are very weak.” 

He looked around. 

“ Do you want anything?” 

“Yes.” 

“ What is it?” 

“Phebe.” 

“ It is night, Paul,” replied his mother evasive- 
ly. He dozed again. After a little he opened his 
eyes and looked around as if trying to think. 

“ Let us give him a sleeping powder.” 

“ The doctor said not.” 

In the morning he slept an hour, and seemed to 
be a little stronger when he awoke. “Tom,” he 
whispered. 

Tom bent his ear to his lips. 

“ Is Phebe dead? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ When did she die? ” 

“About three weeks ago.” 

They gave him a little broth, and again sleep, 
nature’s sweet restorer, came to his relief. 

The doctor found him better. “ Good nursing, 
plenty of sleep, and chicken broth will bring him 
around all right,” he declared. 

The doctor was right. It took time and care, 
but his naturally strong constitution asserted it- 
self, and he gradually regained his former health, 
10 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Resignation. 

As soon as Paul was pronounced out of danger 
Dr. Taggart was admitted to his room. 

“ I am glad to see you better.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Paul lay as if in deep thought. After awhile 
he whispered: “ Doctor.” 

“What, Paul?” 

“ I treated you awfully that night; I am afraid 
I struck you.” 

“ Never mind about that; think about getting 
well.” 

“Tell me if I did.” 

“ No, you did not. You pushed me out of your 
way a little when I would not let you go. You 
had the fever then, and did not know what you 
were doing.” 

“ I do not think that I did.” 

Again he seemed to be thinking. “Doctor.” 
“Well?” 

“Forgive me and bear with me. My life is 
completely wrecked.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive. I will go and let 
you rest.” 

Martin did not make any apparent effort to gain 
strength. When he was better his friends tried to 
( 146 ) 


RESIGNATION. 


147 


induce him to go out and get the pure, fresh air, 
and meet some cheerful society, hoping that it 
would contribute to his speedy recovery. He did 
not care to see any one, and stayed very close to 
the house. 

“ Mother, come and sit down here. I want to 
talk with you.” 

His mother took the offered seat. 

“ I am not strong yet, but I suppose I must go 
to work and do something. You and father have 
had a great deal of trouble with me. I do not 
hope ever to be able to repay you, but I am going 
to look out for myself. From this on I will cease 
to be the burden that I have been.” 

“We are glad to do all we can for you. We 
do not feel that you are a burden, but when you 
are strong enough we know that you will want to 
get to your work. Do you want to go to Ohio, or 
would you like to take something else? ” 

“ That is what I want to talk about. I cannot 
go there, I could not stand it, and that is not the 
worst of it.” 

“ What is the worst? ” 

“ I hate to tell you, but you will have to know, 
and I may as well. I am not going to preach.” 

“You are not? What do you mean? ” 

“ I am not fit to preach. I was honest. I thought 
I was following the plain leadings of Providence. 
I must have made a mistake.” 

“How, when, what?* 

“When I decided to go to the seminary, God 


148 A minister’s probation. 

knows that I was sincere. I know now that I am 
utterly unfit for the work. I could not preach a 
sermon to save my life.” 

“That is because you have been sick; you are 
not strong yet. You will feel different when you 
get well.” 

“No, that is not it. I cannot stand up in the 
pulpit and tell other people what to do when I do 
not walk in that path myself. If a blind man at- 
tempts to lead the blind, both will fall into the 
ditch. I am blind myself, and I will not be guilty 
of the folly of attempting to show the way to 
others.” 

“You preached several times very acceptably 
to everybody that heard you before you were 
taken sick, and I cannot see how a spell of fever 
could unfit you for doing it again when you get 
over it.” 

“It is not the fever. I am over that. I do not 
quite understand what it is, but I know I have no 
business in the pulpit. My heart is as hard as a 
rock.” 

“You ought to see Dr. Taggart. Are you 
able to go there? If not, we will send for him.” 

“I do not want to see him. I treated him 
badly.” 

“ He would be glad to see you. He does not 
lay up anything against you.” 

“I suppose that Dr. Taggart is a Christian. I 
am not.” 


“ O Paul! Paul!” 


RESIGNATION. I49 

“ I do not want to distress you. I would rather 
not tell you, but I am not a hypocrite.” 

“Paul, you must not forget that you have been 
a professor for nearly ten years.” 

“I know I have, and I have told you, mother, 
that I was sincere. I thought I was. I know now 
that it was all a mistake.” 

Mrs. Martin was overcome with grief. She 
left Paul, and as soon as she could she gave an 
account of the interview to her husband and Tom. 

“I will tell you one thing, mother,” said Tom, 
“ I believe that there is something wrong with 
PauPs mind. Dr. Clark told me when he was at 
the worst that he might get well and not be the 
same that he was.” 

Mr. Martin was deeply moved. “ My son, O 
my son ! ” he wailed. 

That afternoon the distressed father went to see 
Dr. Clark. 

“ I think you are all unnecessarily alarmed,” 
said the doctor. “Paul will come around all 
right. He was never sick before, and it went hard 
with him. He is weak yet.” 

“He is getting stronger. He talked about 
going to work, and said he could not preach; he 
even said he is not a Christian.” 

“ Did he go to the seminary of his own accord, 
or was he persuaded into it? ” 

“ He decided for himself.” 

“ Then he has no one but himself to blame if he 
did make a mistake.” 


150 A minister’s probation. 

“He does not blame any one. What shall we 
do?” 

“I cannot tell. It is not a case for a doctor, 
but I shall call around to-morrow and see Paul.” 

Mr. Martin was not much comforted, and went 
to Dr. Taggart’s. 

“ Paul has acted very strangely,” said the Doc- 
tor. 

“ He took Phebe’s death very hard. I am afraid 
that and the fever has been too much for him. It 
is very sad.” 

“ Do you think his mind is affected?” 

“ I do not know. Dr. Clark ought to be a bet- 
ter judge of that. I have noticed that Paul has a 
strange look out of his eyes, and he has been quiet 
and reserved ever since he was sick.” 

“ Phebe’s death is enough to account for that.” 

“ Not altogether. It came on him suddenly, and 
of course it was a shock, but other men have met 
with greater trials. It was not as bad as it would 
have been if they had been married.” 

“ It was more than he could stand. It has near- 
ly killed him.” 

“Men lose their wives with whom they have 
lived for fifteen or twenty years, and they do not 
die or go crazy. Paul was a Christian. The 
grace of God is sufficient for him.” 

“ Then why is he so changed? ” 

“ I would rather not say, but I am afraid his 
brain has suffered from the fever. Does he talk 
much about Phebe?” 


kESIGNATION. I5I 

“ No, he never mentions her, and neither do the 
rest of us.” 

Mr. Martin returned to his home with a heavy 
heart. He wanted to talk to Paul about himself, 
but he was afraid that he might make matters 
worse. 

The next morning Dr. Clark stopped as he was 
going past. He expressed his satisfaction at find- 
ing his recent patient so much improved, and 
asked him when he expected to be able to go to his 
work. 

“ I do not know what I am going to do, doctor. 
I am all at sea. I have abandoned the idea of 
going to Ohio.” 

“ Why? Have they got another preacher? ” 

“ I do not know whether they have or not. I 
am not competent to fill the place. I am not fit 
to preach at all.” 

“ I hardly think you are. You had better not 
attempt to preach for a while; you might break 
down. It would be a good idea, if the place is 
still open, to go and do pastoral work, visit the peo- 
ple, and, after you have gotten a little acquainted, 
gradually take up the pulpit work. You are not 
as strong as you were before you were sick, and 
it will be some time before you are. You need a 
change ; the best thing you can do is to go among 
strangers and make yourself useful.” 

“ That is not what I mean. I think I am strong 
enough. I am getting better every day, I will soon 
be well; but I am not the devoted, sincere, conse- 


152 


A minister's probation. 


crated Christian that a preacher ought to be. I 
am no hypocrite, and I have made up my mind 
that I will not try to preach.’’ 

“ If that is true, it is a pity that you did not 
find it out before you went to the seminary.” 

“ If what is true? ” 

“ If it is true that you are not the kind of a Chris- 
tian that a preacher ought to be. It seems a pity 
to spend three years of time, and the money that 
you did, to prepare yourself for a work that you 
cannot do.” 

“ I know that. I wish I had died.” 

“ No, you do not. I took a prominent part in 
preventing a fatal termination of your sickness, 
and I think I am entitled to a little gratitude, if I 
never get anything more.” • 

“ I beg your pardon, doctor. I am grateful to 
you for what you did for me, and to all the rest, 
but I — I — I am so — I do not know what is the mat- 
ter with me.” 

“I do.” 

“Tell me.” 

“You are morbid ; that is all. You stay at home 
too much. There comes George Jones. Jump into 
his wagon and ride over to see 3mur sister. She 
will be glad to see you, and it will do you more 
good than all the medicine I have.” 

“ How will I get back? ” 

“Walk back.” 

“ I am not sure that I can.” 

“ I am sure. If it makes you sick, I will treat 


RESIGNATION. 1 53 

you free of charge. I must go now. George, 
stop a minute; Paul wants a ride.” 

“All right, come on,” said George. 

Paul walked slowly out to the road and climbed 
languidly into the wagon. 

“ I am glad you are getting well,” said George 
cordially. “ When are you going to Ohio? ” 

“I do not know,” Paul replied. “They may 
have gotten another man by this time.” 

“ No, they have not. Dr. Taggart said this 
morning they have written to him to know when 
you can go.” 

“ I am not sure that I will go at all.” 

“You ought to go. They need you, and they 
have waited all this time for you to get well. If 
you could have taken Phebe there, you can surely 
stand it yourself.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

‘ ‘ Why, you know a new country is always harder 
on a woman than on a man. She was willing to give 
up her home and all her friends, and go among 
strangers, and put up with all the hardships, to 
give you a chance to do your duty; and now I think 
it would be easier for you to go alone.” 

“ It is not easy for me to live without Phebe.” 

“ I did not mean that. I meant the living in a 
new country. They say that preachers have a 
pretty hard time of it in the West, and I suppose 
they have. A single man can probably get along 
better than a married one in some respects. Phe- 
be has gone where she cannot know anything about 


154 ^ minister’s probation. 

it, but I am sure that if she did know she would 
want you to go ahead and do your duty.” 

“ I am sure she would.” 

“ Phebe was Martha’s bridesmaid the day we 
were married, and I remember she said that day 
that when a man did right happiness was sure to 
come to him. I tried to do right, and I am very 
happy. If you do right, you will be happy too. 
You ought to go on just as you were going to do.” 

“ I will try to do right. I am glad you told me 
about that.” 

Paul left the wagon and surprised his sister with 
an unexpected visit. While she was preparing a 
tempting dinner he sat under a shade tree and did 
some serious thinking. His thoughts ran in a more 
healthy channel than they had done since his ill- 
ness. He prayed to that God who turns no one 
away. He remembered the promise: “ I will take 
away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will 
give you a heart of flesh.” He conquered his re- 
bellious will. The Spirit of God again bore wit- 
ness with his spirit that he was a child of God, 
an heir to eternal life. He was enabled to say: 
“ Thy will be done.” When he arrived at home 
he found his father and mother, his brother Tom, 
and Dr. Taggart all on the porch engaged in ear- 
nest conversation. 

“ Why, Paul!” exclaimed the Doctor, “ you are 
looking better. When will you be ready to start 
to Ohio?” 

“ Is the place still open to me? ” 


RESIGNATION. I55 

‘‘ O yes; they want you. They are anxiously 
waiting for you.” 

“ I think I will be able to go in a few days. I 
thought of giving the work up. I have had a bat- 
tle with myself, but have conquered.” 

“You mean that you have conquered yourself ? ’ ’ 

“Yes.” 

“ Then you have won a great victory. The 
Scripture says: ‘ He that ruleth his own spirit is 
greater than he that taketh a city.’ ” 

When the Doctor was ready to go home, Paul 
accompanied him to the gate, and at parting said: 
“ I will have to do my work without Phebe.” 

“ The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
away,” quoted the Doctor. 

Paul added: “Blessed be the name of the 
Lord.” 

Now that he had fairly begun to mend, his re- 
covery was rapid. When he had come to himself 
he remembered everything. He did not need to 
be urged on and asked when he would be ready 
to go. He was afraid to trust himself, and was 
anxious to get to his work. Phebe’s death was 
his first great trial, and he had been found wanting. 
He had a long talk with Dr. Taggart, during 
which he told him that he had wanted to give up 
his ministry, because he felt unworthy of his high 
calling. The Doctor was very tender with him. 
He advised him to go on with his work, and re- 
minded him of his oration on the day of gradua- 
tion, “ Life is a probation from the cradle to the 


156 A minister’s probation. 

grave.” His bereavement was to be received by 
him as a part of his probation. He had not done 
anything worse than Peter, when he cursed and 
swore and said, “ I know not the man;” and yet 
the Master had said to him after that, “ Feed my 
sheep.” 

Paul cried again unto the Lord from the depths. 
The Lord heard and again sent him an answer of 
peace. He was comforted. As a mother com- 
forteth her child even so the Lord comforted Paul. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Missionary Work. 

Martin went to Ohio and entered upon his 
work a consecrated young man. He found that 
Mr. Edwards had been gone for some months, and 
there had only been an occasional service since 
his departure. The few members of his church 
had become discouraged, and some of them had 
gone into other folds. They had no house of wor- 
ship, and not much of an organization. Martin 
called a meeting in a log schoolhouse, of all mem- 
bers and adherents to the Presbyterian Church, 
and met with them. There were present at that 
initial meeting two men and five women. It was 
a small beginning, but there was an abundance of 
material for missionary work in that community. 
Martin did faithful service all that winter, preach- 
ing in season and out of season. He visited the 
sick, officiated at the funerals of the dead, and as 
far as he could alleviated the wants of the poor 
and needy. 

A few were gathered into the ark of safety, and 
a Sabbath school was organized. The people 
were generally poor, many of them having emigra- 
ted to the West because they had not succeeded 
in making a comfortable living in the East. As 

( 157 ) 


158 A minister’s probation. 

a rule none of them were noted for piety. When 
spring approached, the constant and open viola- 
tion of the Sabbath pained Martin deeply. It was 
the one day in the week set apart by the women 
for visiting, and by the men for hunting and fish- 
ing. As he became acquainted with the people 
he did all that he could to turn the tide. The 
women reasoned with him. They told him of their 
hard lot in life. For six days every week they 
were in a constant round of cooking and sweeping, 
milking and churning, washing and ironing. Sun- 
day was the only day they had for recreation, and 
they could see no harm in going to see a neigh- 
bor or in receiving a few visitors in their homes. 
Sometimes the men laughed at him, and once in 
a while some one more hardened than the rest 
swore at him. , One Sabbath on his way from 
preaching to a small, unappreciative congregation, 
he met a party of hunters, with their guns and 
their game. He knew the most of them. 

“ Good day. Parson. Have a squirrel?” said 
one as they came up to him. 

He was not quite sure whether it was offered in 
genuine courtesy, in sport, or in derision. 

“No, thank you,” he replied pleasantly. “If 
it was yesterday or to-morrow, I would gladly ac- 
cept it.” 

“ Why not to-day? ” 

“ Because I do not think that it is right to hunt 
on the Sabbath.” 

“The squirrel will taste just the same,” 


MISSIONARY WORK. 


159 


“Yes, I dare say it will, but it is wrong.’’ 

‘ ‘ What is wrong about it ? ” 

“ It is a violation of the Sabbath.” 

“ Pshaw, Sunday is made for rest.” 

‘ ‘ Is hunting resting ? ’ ’ 

“Yes. It is not working. It is as much rest- 
ing as going to church is.” 

“Perhaps so. I do not regard the Sabbath as 
intended for idleness. We are to rest from our 
usual week day employment.” 

“ We have got you there. Hunting is not our 
usual week day employment, but what is Sunday 
intended for according to your notion?” 

“ I think it is set apart for the worship of God.” 

“Say, Squire — I beg your pardon — Parson, 
what are you after out here, any way? We fel- 
lows have no money.” 

“ I am after your souls.” 

“You won’t git much if you git ’em,” laughed 
one. 

‘ ‘ Parson , may I put in a word ? ’ ’ 

“ O yes, what is it? ” 

“ Why do you keep on preaching to the ones 
that have got religion? Why don’t you preach to 
us that need it? ” 

“You do not give me a chance.” 

They all laughed, and one replied: “ I gave you 
a chance. I went to hear you once and you did not 
say a word that hit me.” 

“ Try me again, and I will do better.” 

It was laughingly agreed that they would all go 


i6o A minister’s probation. 

to hear him preach when he came to his next ap- 
pointment, which would be in two weeks. The 
men told their fellow-sinners, and they told their 
friends, and the result was that the service was well 
advertised. A great many went to that meeting 
who had never heard Martin preach, and some 
who had seldom heard any one. 

Paul prepared himself for the work, and went 
with a strong faith in his Heavenly Father and a 
modest confidence in himself. When he rode up 
to the schoolhouse, he found it full of expectant 
people, and as many on the outside as the inside. 
There seemed to be an indefinite idea prevailing 
that there was going to be some fun. After a lit- 
tle consultation, the seats were carried out for the 
women, while the men found plenty of room on 
the ground. A small platform was prepared for 
Martin, that he might be seen and heard. The 
people were not only willing but anxious to give 
him a chance. After the usual opening exer- 
cises, he rose and said: “Those of you who have 
brought Bibles will find the text in the eighth 
verse of the twenty-first chapter of Revelations. 
It reads: ‘But the fearful, and unbelieving, and 
the abominable, and murderers, and whoremon- 
gers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, 
shall have their part in the lake which burneth 
with fire and brimstone: which is the second 
death.’” 

He closed his Bible, and glanced over his au- 
dience, “It is not necessary that I should de- 


MISSIONARY WORK. 


l6l 


scribe these different classes of people. My sub- 
ject is ‘ The Second Death.’ ” 

Martin preached to his congregation, and they 
heard every word that he said. At first some of 
them were amused, then angry. After a little 
they became interested, and some of them fright- 
ened. The preacher brought his nine years of 
training to his aid, and that lovely Sabbath morn- 
ing he preached to those uncultured backwoods- 
men as if his own soul’s salvation depended on 
that hour’s work. He was helped by the Holy Spir- 
it, and his efforts were not in vain. Hearts were 
touched. The most of the company stayed for the 
second sermon, which was short, from the words: 
“Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.” 

From that day Martin was a power in that com- 
munity. Even his enemies respected him. 

One day an awkward young man rode up to his 
boarding place, and called out: “ Halloo! Is the 
parson at home?” 

“Yes.” ■ 

“Tell him to come out here. I want to see 
him.” Martin went out and met the man who 
had offered him the squirrel on that memorable 
Sabbath morning. 

“Say, parson; are you a licensed preacher?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“ Well, Rach Wolf and me are going to be 
hitched day after to-morrow, and we want you to 
do the job. Do you know where old man Wolf 
lives? ” 


i 62 a minister’s probation. 

Martin’s eyes filled with tears, and he did not 
reply. 

“ Heavens and earth! What’s the matter? You 
don t want her, do you? ” 

“ Bob, the girl that was to have been my wife 
is dead. It hurts me to think of it. I will marry 
you. What time do you want the ceremony? ” 

“About ten o’clock. I’m sorry for you. I could 
ffet the Squire. You would iust as lief as not?” 

“Oyes.” 

“What will you charge? ” 

“ I will not make any charge.” 

“ All right; you will be sure to be there? ” 

“Yes.” 

Bob rode off, and it suddenly occurred to Mar- 
tin that he had never married any one, and he was 
not sure that he had a legal right to do so. He 
consulted Squire Foster. 

“Have you a license?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, if you have a license from the court, that 
is all that is required.” 

“License from the court? My license is from 
the Presbytery.” 

“ Have you no license from Wooster? ” 

“No.” 

“Then you can’t marry.” 

“ Whom can I get to take my place?” 

“Just wait a minute. Do not be in too big a 
hurry. You are a licensed preacher? ” 

“Yes.” 


MISSIONARY WORK. 


163 


“Have you got papers to show for it?” 

“Yes; I have my license.” 

“Well, you just take a fool’s advice. You just 
git on that horse of yourn, and go to Wooster to- 
morrow, and take your papers, and git a license 
to marry. It won’t cost you much, and you know 
plenty there that’ll go on your bond. You don’t 
want it to git out that you can’t marry. You don’t 
want to lower yourself.” 

The next day Martin visited the capital of the 
county and secured credentials that he was author- 
ized to unite all proper persons in the holy bonds 
of matrimony. As he was leaving the courthouse, 
he was surprised to hear: “ Halloo, Parson Martin ! 
wait a minute.” 

He turned and met Bob Smith. 

“It is lucky for me that you are here; I want 
you to vouch for me.” 

“What is that?” 

“I’m up after my license. I just want you to go 
with me to the clerk’s ofRce and tell them I can 
keep Rach in grub and clothes.” 

“Why, Bob; I would like to oblige you, but I 
do not know anything about it. Is Mr. Wolf will- 
ing for his daughter to marry you?” 

“Yes; he’s going to give us a big blow out. I 
know my ability. You can just say that it is all 
right.” 

Martin went with Smith to the office, and the 
clerk filled up a license. “Do you vouch for the 
young man?” glancing at Martin. 


164 A minister’s probation. 

“ It is all right as far as I know.” 

“ That will do; just write your name there,” in- 
dicating the place. 

Martin wrote his name, wondering if he had as- 
sumed the relation of godfather to Bob, and if he 
would be called on for a supply of ham and po- 
tatoes if the larder ever became empty. 

The wedding the next day was largely attended. 
The parties most deeply concerned had not been 
exclusive in regard to invitations. 

The officiating clergyman performed his part 
with dignity, and after the ceremony mingled with 
the people. He talked a few minutes with a group 
of giggling girls, and was astounded, a little later, 
to hear one of them say; “That fool preacher is 
in love with every one of us girls.” 

He listened for the reply, which came from the 
bridegroom: “ He wouldn’t touch one of you 
with a forty-foot pole.” 

The hero of those exalted remarks smiled. He 
had no affinity with such associations, and as soon 
as he could he bade them good-by, and returned to 
his home, where he spent the evening in selecting a 
text and preparing a subject for his next sermon, 
when he would be permitted to preach to a large 
crowd, drawn together by the fact that the newly 
married couple would on that occasion “make 
their appearance ” at church. Martin thought of 
his Pennsylvania home and his home friends, but 
he was contented. Since he was doomed to go 
through the world alone, he felt that it was better 


MISSIONARY WORK. 165 

that he be sacrificed on the altar, than a man who 
had a wife to be offered up with him. He was 
happy in the knowledge that he was sowing the 
seed given him to sow. He was aware that much 
of it fell upon stony ground, and that some came 
up and was choked out. He also knew that some 
fell upon good ground, and took deep root and, 
springing up, bore good fruit, in some hearts thir- 
ty, in some sixty, and in some a hundred fold. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A Call. 

Martin expected a good audience when he 
preached the next time at Cross Roads. He was 
not disappointed. He was surprised at the number 
of people present, and wondered where they all 
came from. He knew that many of them were 
there for the purpose of witnessing an important 
social event. Bob Smith and his wife “ made their 
appearance.’’ Martin did his best to make it pay 
them for coming. As was his usual custom, he 
went from his closet to his pulpit. He gave more 
than the usual time to the preparation of his ser- 
mon, and the consciousness that he was prepared 
to handle his subject intelligently gave him a con- 
fidence in himself that helped him to do his best. 
While he was preaching he noticed in his congre- 
gation, a benevolent-looking stranger who was bet- 
ter dressed than the rural inhabitants to whom he 
ministered from time to time. He had an intelli- 
gent, dignified bearing that attracted Martin’s par- 
ticular notice. Furthermore, he gave his undivid- 
ed attention to the discourse, and at the close of 
the services he quietly, almost mysteriously, disap- 
peared. The people nearly all waited to shake 
hands with the preacher and the bride and gfroom. 

( 166 ) 


A CALL. 


167 

No one noticed the stranger, and Martin did not 
have an opportunity to speak to him. On Mon- 
day morning he called at the rustic abode which 
the preacher called home, and sought an introduc- 
tion to the young missionary. It came out in the 
course of the conversation that the distinguished- 
looking visitor was a commitee of one, sent to 
hear Martin preach; and if in his matured judg- 
ment he considered it desirable, he was to invite 
him to preach in the vacant pulpit of Ashland, in 
an adjoining county. Rev. Hugh Watson, their 
pastor, had died recently, and his wife and chil- 
dren had gone back to their people in Pennsylva- 
nia, and the bereaved congregation were looking 
around for another pastor. They paid a salary of 
five hundred dollars a year, in consequence of 
which they were able to command almost unlimit- 
ed talent. The fame of the brilliant young preach- 
er had reached them, and they were anxious to 
hear him preach. 

Mr. Robert Moore, who was one of the most in- 
fluential elders, did not wish to raise in the breast 
of the young man any hopes that might not be 
realized. He told him that it would be well for 
him to get a short leave of absence and make a 
visit to Ashland. Martin acted upon the sugges- 
tion, and stopped by invitation at the hospitable 
home of Mr. Moore, and was introduced by him 
to his wife and family as the popular young 
preacher from Wayne County. 

No one had ever told him that his services were 


A minister’s probation. 


1 68 

appreciated^ and he was as much surprised as 
pleased. Mr. Moore was one of the leading busi- 
ness men of Ashland, as well as an elder in the 
Presbyterian Church. His home was one of 
refinement and culture, and almost elegance for 
that time and place. There were three young la- 
dies in the family, who felt it their duty to enter- 
tain their father’s guest. It was work that they 
were accustomed to, and they performed the 
pleasant task to the best of their ability. Paul 
was entertained. It was a new life, and reminded 
him of his congenial surroundings at the home of 
Mr. Black, in Allegheny. He went from his 
closet to that vacant pulpit, and the Holy Spirit 
went with him. The congregation were delighted 
with his sermon, and evidently he was their com- 
ingman. The only question was : Would hewear? 
That question could only be answered by time. 
There was a meeting or two of the session, and an 
arrangement was made to send a licentiate to do 
Martin’s work in Wayne County, and he was to 
remain in Ashland as a stated supply. 

Verily, Paul Martin was then on probation. He 
had plenty of it. He boarded in the family of a 
widow, who eked out a slender income by taking 
boarders. He made pastoral visits and social 
visits. He slighted no one, and had a friendly 
word for all. He was about his Father’s business, 
winning souls for Christ, and it seemed to him 
that he would rather work in that particular vine- 
yard than any other of which he had any knowl- 


A CALL. 


edge. He had been in Wayne about a year, and, 
although he had shirked no responsibility, he felt 
that the pastorate would be immeasurably more 
congenial than the mission. 

One day as he passed down the principal street 
of the village he was accosted : “ Halloo, Parson ! ” 

He looked around. “ Well, Bob Smith! ” 

“How are you flourishing?’’ 

After a short conversation Bob accepted an in- 
vitation to dinner. At the table he inquired: 
“ When are you coming home? ” 

“ I do not know? ” 

“ He is not going home at all. We are going to 
keep him here,” said Mrs. Sims. 

“ Thunder and lightning I He’s got to go home. 
They can’t get along without him.” The board- 
ers all laughed at the outburst, and Mrs. Sims as- 
sured Smith that Ashland could not get along 
without him either. Smith was in Ashland on a 
matter of business, and his meeting with Paul was 
an accident. His invitation to dine was due to 
Martin's natural social disposition. A few days 
later Samuel West, an elder, who lived in the 
country, went into Moore’s store. 

“ What are we going to do about a preacher? ” 

“I do not know. It seems that we are doing 
very well as it is. Martin is giving good satisfac- 
tion, is he not? ” 

“ Yes, but it is not going to last.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“They say there was a fellow here from 


170 


A minister’s probation. 


Wayne the other day to see about his going 
back.” 

“ O, he will not go.” 

“I do not know. Anyway we ought to have a 
pastor; we have had supplies long enough.” 

“I have no objection.” 

“Well, let us put our shoulders to the wheel 
and go to work. Suppose you sound him, and 
find out the least he can be had for.” 

“You think he is the man?” 

“ Yes, if we can get him cheap enough.” 

“We paid Watson five hundred.” 

“ We do not want to pay Martin that.” 

“Why not? ” 

“He does not need it; he has no family.” 

“That will not do.” 

“It will do. You do not suppose the congrega- 
tion is going to pay a big salary to a young man 
that has nobody to keep but himself, do you?” 

“We ought to pay a fair price for the work 
done.” 

“ He will not hurt himself working; preachers 
never do. You see him.” 

When Mr. Moore went home that evening he 
met Martin just leaving the house. “Wait a min- 
ute. Come in and have supper with us.” 

“O no, thank you,” hesitatingly. 

“ Come on. We may not have much to eat, 
but you can take potluck.” 

Martin went back and waited in the parlor 
while the company china and silver were hastily 


A CALL. 


17I 

brought out in the dining room. Moore thought 
of business, and remarked jokingly: “Mr. Mar- 
tin, if you never intend to marry, and will agree 
to live on corndodgers and potatoes, we might 
give you a call here.” 

“ I am not thinking of getting married,” replied 
the candidate for pastoral honors. 

“You ought to be thinking of it. Every preach- 
er ought to have a wife to preside over the sewing 
society, and to afford the women a lively topic of 
conversation.” 

“Not a very pleasant outlook for the lady.” 

“You have never been a pastor, and you have 
not made the discovery that you and your wife 
and children, and all your relations and all her rela- 
tions, existforthe convenience of the congregation.” 

Supper was announced, and the good elder no- 
ticed that Martin was able to dispose of a cred- 
itable amount of cake and preserves. “ He has 
been used to good living, and he ought to have it,” 
was the conclusion to which he arrived. 

Bob Smith’s trip to Ashland did much to stir up 
the people to a sense of their duty. To be sure, 
he was not a member of the Church, but he took 
the trouble to find out about Martin’s chances, and 
was without doubt authorized to do so. The 
good people of Ashland wanted a pastor, and 
they wanted Martin, but no one took the lead. 
That had been generally Moore’s work, but he 
seemed at that time to be the most indifferent man 
in the church. 


1^2 


A. MINISTER S PROBATION. 


Elder John Robinson laid in wait for him after 
the services on Sabbath. “ Hadn’t you better call 
a congregational meeting soon?” 

“What for?” 

“ To vote on a preacher.” 

“You had better call it yourself.” 

Elder Robinson met Elder West. “ Hadn’t we 
better call a meeting to vote on a preacher? ” 

“Yes, the sooner the better. I was talking to 
Moore about it the other day.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ Not much of anything.” 

“ That is strange. I tell you what, I believe 
that Moore does not like Martin.” 

“ What has he against him? ” 

“ I do not know, but he does not take any in- 
terest in getting him.” 

“ Martin is my man.” 

“And mine too.” 

The other elders were interviewed, and the re- 
sult was that Martin was given a notice to read 
from the pulpit, which called a meeting of the ses- 
sion the next Tuesday evening. Every member 
was present, and Robinson was called to the 
chair. He stated the object of the meeting in few 
words, it being to take the preliminary steps toward 
securing a pastor. There was a free expression 
of opinion from all except Moore, who remained 
obstinately silent. 

“We would like to hear from Moore,” said the 
chairman. 


A CALL. 


173 


He rose to his feet. “ I hardly know. I have 
nothing against Martin, but it might be well to 
hear some one else preach before wc decide.” 

“If he suits us, what is the use?” 

“Does he suit us?” 

“ He suits me.” 

“And me.” 

“And me.” 

“All right, he will suit me,” said Moore. 

“What about salary?” inquired West. 

“ The congregation will have to fix that.” 

A congregational meeting was appointed, and 
there was an incredible amount of electioneering, 
considering that there was only one candidate in 
the field. 

Elder Moore was nominated for chairman, but 
positively declined the honor. An idea prevailed 
that Moore was unfriendly to Martin, and that 
was regarded as conclusive evidence. Robinson 
was elected to the chair, and it was thought best 
to decide the amount of salary they could pay 
first. 

Elder West moved that it be three hundred dol- 
lars a year. 

Elder Moore offered an amendment that it be 
six hundred. 

After a lengthy war of words five hundred was 
decided upon. 

Nominations were then in order. Elder James 
Reed nominated the Rev. Paul Martin. Elder 
West seconded the nomination. 


174 ^ minister’s probation. 

“Is there any other candidate?” inquired the 
chairman, as he glanced in the direction of Elder 
Moore. 

“I have none.” 

Remarks were called for, and a good deal of 
eloquence was wasted. After every one had had 
a chance to speak, the vote was taken. Every- 
body stood up except Elder Moore. 

“We would like to have a unanimous vote,” 
said the chairman. “ I hope we are all agreed?” 

“Certainly,” replied Moore, as he arose to his 
feet. The vote was then unanimous. 

Elders Reed and Moore were appointed to con- 
fer with the pastor elect. 

Martin rejoiced in the good fortune that had 
come to him. He was glad that he suited the peo- 
ple and that they wanted his services, and he was 
glad because of the change it would make in his 
manner of living. His social surroundings would 
be so much more congenial, and his salary would 
be nearly doubled. He accepted the “call;” and 
at a meeting of the Presbyter}^, convened for that 
purpose, he was duly installed as pastor of the 
Presbyterian Church in Ashland. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Married. 

Martin continued to call at Elder Moore’s. He 
was told that that gentleman was not very favora- 
bly inclined toward him, and he thought he would 
conciliate him. Every time he went from his 
boarding place to the business part of the village 
he passed the Moore residence, and it was easy to 
stop. The young ladies were never busy, at least 
never too busy to entertain the young pastor. One 
evening he stopped, as was his custom, and Mary 
went to meet him. “ I am sorry Sue and Bell are 
both away.” 

“ Out of town? ” 

“ O no; they are only out to supper, but they 
will not be home until late.” 

“ It does not matter. I just called as I was pass- 
ing.” 

Martin lingered until he heard them coming, and 
spoke to them as he went out. 

“Well, Mary Moore, I declare ; you had a beau,” 
exclaimed Sue, almost before he was out of hear- 
ing. 

“We have him every evening.” 

“ Yes, but you had him all to yourself to-night.” 

“ Good reason why. Let me do the visiting, and 
you can have him the next time.” 


( 175 ) 


176 A minister’s probation. 

“ I do not want him. Jim is nearly to the point. 
You and Bell may toss a penny for him.” 

“And starve to death,” said Bell. “You will 
never catch me being a preacher’s wife, not unless 
it is the last forlorn chance.” 

“Wait until some preacher wants you,” said 
Mary. 

“It seems to be taking the Rev. Paul Martin a 
good while to make up his mind whom he does 
want. He is nearly forty.” 

“ He is twenty-seven,” said Mary. 

“ Mercy on us ! Has he been showing you the 
family record ? ” 

“ He told me his age.” 

Mary went upstairs. 

“Sue Moore, I believe Mr. Martin likes our 
Mary.” 

“And I believe our Mary likes Mr. Martin.” 

“ What would father say? ” 

“ He would be furious.” 

“ Still it would be nice.” 

“Yes, it would.” 

The girls followed their sister upstairs. The 
next day Bell dusted the parlor and arranged the 
furniture with unusual care. Sue went in. 

“I am fixing up for his reverence.” 

“Why, Bell; are 3^ou going to set your cap for 
a parson, and starve to death, after all?” 

“No, I am doing a sisterly turn for Mary. 
There are too many of us girls. It is time that 
some of us were off.” 


MARRIED. 


177 


“I shall soon be gone. There is one thing, I 
have thought of. If Mr. Martin does come to 
see Mary, it looks too bad the way we crowd in 
and make a family party of it.” 

“We cannot assume that he does.” 

“We can find out.” 

The girls put their fun-loving heads together, 
and formed a plan. When Mr. Martin called the 
next time there was no one in sight. He knocked 
gently on the open door. 

Bell hurried to the kitchen. “ He has come, 
Jane; be sure and do not laugh.” 

The maid of all work went to the door, and de- 
murely ushered him into the parlor. She gave 
him a chair, and as she turned to go she asked: 
“Whom do you wish to see?” 

Martin hardly understood, but the girl was wait- 
ing politely. He collected his scattered wits and 
replied: “ Miss Mary.” 

Jane returned to the kitchen and reported. Bell 
was delighted. “Where is Mary, mother; where 
is Mary? Mr. Martin is here.” 

‘ ‘ She has gone out with Emma Reed ; call Sue. ’ ’ 

“Sue has an awful headache.” 

“ Well, go to the parlor yourself. Do not keep 
him waiting all day.” 

“ I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. 
Martin. Sister Mary is not at home, and mother 
sent me in to entertain you. If you are not in too 
much of a hurry, she will be back soon.” 

He was not in a hurry. He had called just as 

12 


A minister’s probation. 


178 

he was in the habit of calling, to see all of them. 
He enjoyed society, and there he found the best 
in the village. Presently Mary came up the walk, 
and Bell called out of the open window: “ Mary, 
come in here.” 

Mary entered, and with an “ Excuse me ” Bell 
was gone. Paul stayed awhile, with an uncom- 
fortable feeling that he was intruding. He had 
never felt so before, but he thought it was possible 
he was monopolizing too much of their time. He 
noticed when he left that she did not ask him to 
call again. He kept away for a few days. One 
evening after supper he joined Mrs. Sims on the 
porch. She was unusually talkative. 

“ Mr. Martin, how long is it since you left Penn- 
sylvania? ” 

“About a year and a half.” 

“ So long as that.” 

“Yes, a little longer. I came in October, a year 
last October.” 

“ Have you never been back? ” 

“No.” 

“You know, Mr. Martin, people will talk. You 
have been here six months, and we have all thought 
you would be going back after a wife.” 

“O no.” 

“ You do not seem to be much of a ladies’ man. 
Have you got aquainted with many of the girls? ” 

“ Some of them.” 

“ You ought to let me pick out a wife for you. 

I know the girls.” 


MARRIED. 


179 


“ Whom would you select? 

“ Emma Reed.” 

“ She is a nice girl.” 

“ Yes, and she would make a splendid preach- 
er’s wife. She is most too young for you, but you 
are not as old as you look.” 

“ How old do I look? ” 

“About thirty-five.” 

“ I am not quite twenty-eight. ” 

“ Well, you are old enough to be looking up a 
wife. Sue Moore would make a good minister’s 
wife, but they say she is engaged to Jim Hood. 
Any way, her father would take the roof off the 
house.” 

Martin was interested. “ Did you say Sue 
Moore is engaged? ” 

That is the talk. It does not make any differ- 
ence to you,” she added, laughing. “ Her father 
would put her in a nunnery before he would let 
her marry a preacher.” 

“Why?” 

“ Well, he is rich, and he only has them three 
girls, and they spend a mint of money. He knows 
no preacher could keep them up the way he does, 
and he would not want them to come down in the 
world and be poor. They are all in the Church, 
and they are good girls, but they have been raised 
too extravagant to marry any poor preacher.” 

Martin discreetly withdrew, and did a great deal 
of thinking that night. He thought tenderly of 
Phebe lying in the churchyard at Pigeon Creek. 


i8o A minister’s probation. 

He was young, with life all before him, and he 
needed companionship. He needed Mary Moore, 
and he knew that her father had been rather op- 
posed to him ever since he had been there. It 
would require considerable nerve to ask him for 
his daughter, but he laid his plans and proceeded 
to execute them. He saw Sue Moore sitting on 
the steps one evening as he was about to pass, and 
he stopped and went up to her. “ I am glad you 
are alone; I want to see you,” was his greeting. 
He was scarcely seated when Mrs. Moore and 
Bell joined them. Sue could not restrain her cu- 
riosity. She went into the parlor, and, throwing 
open a window, said: “ Come in here, Mr. Mar- 
tin.” 

Mrs. Moore and Bell heard her, for she intend- 
ed them to hear. Paul did her bidding. 

“ My stars! ” exclaimed Mrs. Moore. “What 
does Sue mean?” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ What will he think of her?” 

“ Sue knows what she is about. There is some- 
thing we do not know.” 

“They cannot have any secrets?” 

“ No, I suppose not.” 

“ It is a queer way for a preacher to act. I wish 
he would not come here so much.” 

“ Mother, it is Sue that is responsible for the 
queer. Just wait until he is gone.” It seemed as 
if they would have a long wait, although with his 
characteristic energy he plunged into his business. 


MARRIED. l8l 

He told her bow restful he had found her father’s 
home, and that he wanted Mary for his own. 

“ Why did you come to me?” 

Then he told her of Phebe, how he had loved 
and lost, of his own life before and since. He 
showed her his watch with “Paul and Phebe” 
graven on the case, which had been quietly given 
him before leaving for his missionary field. When 
there was nothing more to tell, he said: “ I do not 
know that she will have me, but I could not ask 
her to be my wife without first letting her know, 
and you can tell her so much better than I can.” 

Sue promised him her aid, and in her he had a 
wonderful ally. When he was gone, Mrs. Moore 
and Bell were eager to know what it all meant. 

“ I can’t tell.” 

“Now, Sue!” said Mrs. Moore. 

“ Did he ask you to marry him? ” quizzed Bell. 

“ He did not.” 

“ Then you might tell.” 

“ If the pastor of the Ashland Presbyterian 
Church does me the honor to make me the confi- 
dante of all his joys and sorrows, I must regard 
that confidence as sacred,” said Sue theatrically. 

“You invited his confidence; at least you in- 
vited him into the parlor.” 

“After he had implored a private audience;” 
and Sue went in search of Mary. 

Mrs. Moore felt it her duty to tell her husband 
about the mysterious call. “ I believe Mr. Mar- 
tin has a notion of Sue.” 


i 82 


A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 


“I’m glad of that.” 

“ Robert Moore! You would not let him have 
her?” 

“ Certainly not. She does not want him. She 
will accept Jim Hood if he can summon courage 
enough to ask her.” 

“ Would that suit you? ” 

“I do not know as I would care. If she is 
going to marry, she will not likely do any better? ” 

Mrs. Moore’s thoughts strayed into a new chan- 
nel. In her contemplation of white satin and or- 
ange blossoms she forgot the existence of the poor 
preacher. Sue could not find Mary, and she had 
to wait until the next day when she told her the 
story. 

Mary was perplexed. 

“Do you love him, dear?” 

“ I do not believe I want to marry any man who 
has come so near marrying another woman ; but 
then he has not asked me to.” 

“You know he will; and if you do not care for 
him, you can tell him so, and that will be the end 
of it. If you love him, I am sorry for you.” 

“Do you think that would be so very unfortu- 
nate? ” 

“It certainly would, for you would have a hard 
row to hoe. He only gets five hundred dollars a 
year. They might raise his salary a little if he 
was to marry, but they will not pay enough, and it 
would be scrimp and economize all your life.” 

“Then you would not have him?” 


MARRIED. 


183 

“ No, I would not, but then I do not love him. 
If I did, I would marry him if I had to run off 
• with him to get him, and that is about what you 
will have to do.” 

“ Then there is no use in talking. A preacher 
could not run off with a girl.” 

They both laughed. 

“ Little sister, I will tell you something. I am 
engaged.” 

“ Sue Moore ! ” 

“ It is a fact, I am. If you do not believe it, I 
will prove it by Jim.” 

“ I will take your word for it.” 

“ We are going to be married in September. 
Jim has a good business, and I do not think 
father will object; but if he does, it will make no 
difference. We shall be married all the same.” 

“You think he would object to Mr. Martin? ” 

“ I know he would, but with me to help you, 
we will see what can be done. Do you love 
him ? ” 

“ I do not know yet. Let me think until after I 
see him.” 

Martin did not stop at Moore’s every day or two 
as he used to do. He dreaded going, lest it might 
be the last time. He was also in a dilemma about 
money matters. His father had given him his ed- 
ucation, and it had cost more than could be given 
any other member of the family. He could not 
ask for more. He was out of debt, and although 
he knew nothing of the cost of a household, he 


A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 


184 

had a vague idea that his five hundred would go 
but a little way in the Moore establishment. He 
noticed plenty of small houses, and he thought it 
might be that they could live somewhere on his 
pittance. At last he called, and Jane went to the 
door. 

“ Is Miss Mary in?’’ 

“ I think so. I’ll see.” 

Mary went to the parlor. 

After a little talk he began: “Did Miss Sue 
tell you ? ” 

“About the young lady? Yes.” 

“ Then it remains for me to tell you that I love 
you. Will you be my wife? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“You want time to think?” 

“No, it is not that exactly. I have thought a 
good deal since Sue told me.” 

“What is it?” 

“ Do you love me as much as you did the young 
lady that is dead?” 

Paul drew a chair close to her, and as he sat 
down he took her hand. “ I love you more than 
any one living. I cannot measure my love. I 
love you with the same kind of love that I loved 
Phebe. I want you to be my wife. I will do my 
best to make you happy.” 

She looked at the flowers in the carpet. 

He laid his arm on the back of her chair. 

She continued looking at the carpet. 

He drew her to his breast. “ Miss Mary.” 


MARRIED. 


“ Do you love me ? 

-Yes.” 

He sealed the betrothal with a kiss. Neither 
thought of the lonely grave at Pigeon Creek. 
They loved each other, and love brings happi- 
ness. 

The next evening when the family were at the 
supper table Jane announced: -The preacher’s 
in the parlor, and he asked for Mr. Moore.” 

- What in the deuce does he want?” 

-I expect he wants me,” said Sue mischiev- 
ously. 

- He can have you and welcome.” replied her 
father. - That is what I told Jim this afternoon.” 

Mr. Moore went to see his guest, and Mary 
nestled up to Sue. 

- I am nearly scared to death.” 

- The storm has got to come; we may as well 
have it over.” 

Mr. Moore talked a few minutes, then decided 
to bring Martin to the object of his call. He drew 
out his watch and said: - I have got to go down 
town to-night. Did you want anything particular?” 

-Yes.” 

- I shall be happy to serve you.” 

- I want to tell you that I love your daughter, 
and ask you to let her become my wife.” 

Mr. Moore smiled. -She is already disposed of, 
Mr. Martin. As you are our pastor, I may confide 
in you to the extent of telling you that Sue is en- 


1 86 A minister’s probation. 

gaged to Jim Hood. I am sorry that you did not 
know.” 

“It is not Miss Sue; it is Miss Mary that I 
want.” 

Elder Moore was dumb with amazement. When 
he regained his speech he exclaimed: “You are 
a confounded fool. Get out of the house ! ” 

“Mr. Moore; I do not deserve this treatment. 
Miss Mary loves me, and” — 

“You are a pair of confounded fools. I tell you 
to walk,” interrupted the enraged father. 

Paul walked, and found Sue waiting for him at 
the gate. “Did you speak to father about Mary ? ” 

“Yes, I tried to, but he would not listen.” 

“Was he very angry?” 

“He ordered me out of the house.” 

“ Father has an awful temper, but Paul — may I 
call you Paul? ” 

“Yes, yes; I wish you would.” 

“I do not like to interfere, but I know that 
Mary loves you, and if you will have patience, 
and not lay father’s outburst up against her, I think 
I can bring him around to see things in a different 
light.” ^ 

“ I will not lay it up against her.” 

“You are not disgusted with the whole family ? ” 

“ O no, indeed.” 

“You will keep coming here as usual?” 

“No, no; I could not do that.” 

“ I wish you would. However, I shall see you.” 

“ Miss Sue, what has your father against me?” 


MARRIED. 


187 

“Nothing only that you are a preacher, with a 
small salary. You know yourself it would be hard 
to live on five hundred dollars a year.” 

“ I do not know much about the cost of living. 
Mr. Watson lived on my salary, and he had a fam- 
ily.” 

“ Yes, but they lived horrid. You and Mary 
would not want to live as they did.” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

“ If you were in business, you could make 
money; but of course you do not want to give up 
preaching. I should not like to have you do that 
myself. Never mind. We will see what can be 
done.” 

Paul went home feeling more strongly than he 
had ever felt before that his life was a probation. 
He did not entertain a thought for a moment of 
giving up the work that he was called of God to 
do. Before he retired to rest he prayed for faith 
and patience: faith to believe that everything 
would work for his good, and patience to endure 
what might be in store for him. 

Elder Moore was very angry when he returned 
to the dining room. “ Mary, you ought to be 
locked up on bread and water until you learn a lit- 
tle sense. What did you send that fool to me for ? ” 

“ I did not send him.” 

“ I am glad to hear that. You would not have 
him if he wanted you to, would you?” 

“ Yes, I would if you would let me.” 

“ I will not let you. Bear that in mind. I do not 


i88 


A minister’s probation. 


believe that you want him. Mother, you see that 
he keeps out of here from this on.” 

“What have you against him? You said the 
other day you were glad when I told you I thought 
he had a notion of Sue.” 

“We may as well have a fair and square under- 
standing,” said the head of the family, as he sat 
down in his favorite armchair. “ I was opposed to. 
Martin in the first place simply and solely because 
he was a single man, and I was afraid he would 
take a notion to some girl and somebody would 
have to suffer. When I thought he was after Sue, 

I was glad, because I knew she would not have 
him, and I did not suppose he would want more 
than one from the same family. I never thought 
of Mary.” 

“Father, do you not think a preacher ought to 
marry?” inquired Bell. 

“If he wants to, but he ought to show some 
sense in selecting a wife.” 

“Our Mary is good enough for anybody, and 
he IS good enough for her.” 

“He is good enough; I suppose he is. If she 
had been raised to pinch and save all her life, it 
might do. Just imagine her living like the Wat- 
sons! I should think you’d see yourselves that it 
is ridiculous.” 

Sue stood upon the threshold, and was just then 
seized with an inspiration. “ Father, may I have 
a private interview with you in the parlor?” she 
inquired, half playfully, half seriously. 


MARRIED. 


189 


They retired to the parlor. 

“ Here, sit on the sofa; I want to sit beside you. 
Now, father, did Jim really ask you for me? ” 

“ He really did.’’ 

“ What did you tell him? ” 

“ I told you.” 

“ O, you didn’t tell him anything of the kind.” 

“ Do you want him ? ” 

“Yes. Indeed I do.” 

“ Well, I do not know as I have any objection. 
Jim has no bad habits, and he is a good business 
man. He will be rich if he lives.” 

“ Then we have your consent? ” 

“ Yes, if you want him.” 

“Now, father, I want to talk about Mary and 
Mr. Martin.” 

“That is another question.” 

“ I know it is, but we have to meet it. I am 
sorry they have taken a notion to each other, but 
worse things might happen her than to be a minis- 
ter’s wife.” 

“Not much.” 

“ O yes there might. A drunken husband 
would be worse. If you would let me manage, 
they would have their way and live respectably, 
and you would get a good deal of credit and not 
be out of pocket much either.” 

Next to money Robert Moore liked to get credit^ 
and his wily eldest daughter knew that better 
than he did. 

“ Let’s hear some of your management,” 


190 A minister’s probation. 

“ Make up your mind, in the first place, to make 
the best of a bad bargain. What would you have 
to pay for that brick house of Morgan’s on Chest- 
nut Street, that is for sale?” 

“It could be bought for fifteen hundred dol- 
lars.” 

“ It would make a good parsonage, and they 
could live as cheaply there as in any little tumble- 
down shanty in town. Now, you buy that and let 
them live there.” 

“ I can’t afford to buy a parsonage for the 
church . ’ ’ 

“ Bu}^ it for yourself. When Paul gets into the 
family I will put some ambition into his head. He 
will not always stay in Ashland. When he goes 
up higher you can sell it, and you will only be out 
the rent while they lived in it. I would not have 
him myself, but I rather like the idea of having a 
minister in the family. He can maintain the dig- 
nity, and Jim can make the money.” 

Elder Moore whistled. 

Sue followed up the advantage that she was 
shrewd enough to see that she had gained. “We 
do not expect to support the preacher, and it would 
be bad for the congregation if we did, but you could 
afford to let them have a house free of rent, and 
then we would not be ashamed of their home, 
and with no rent to pay they could live on his sal- 
ary. Another thing, if you furnish the parsonage 
free of rent, you would not be expected to sub- 
scribe to everything that comes along as much as 


MARRIED. 1 91 

you do now, so you would not be out much after 
all.” 

“ I will see about it; I like Martin very well.” 

“ Everybody likes him. They will be happy, 
and that will cover a multitude of sins, if poverty 
is a sin.” 

Moore yielded inch by inch. At last he said: 
“ I do not like to be wrapped around your finger, 
but I will let you manage, since it seems to be 
your forte. If they want to be miserable for life, 
so be it.” 

^‘You must do one thing.” 

“What?” 

“Apologize to Mr. Martin for the way you treat- 
ed him to-night.” 

“ I won’t do it.” 

“Yes you will, and give him permission to come 
back.” 

“ The dickens !” 

A few days later Moore saw Martin passing his 
store, and went out. “ See here, Martin! I was 
a little fast the other evening, I was taken so by 
surprise. I didn’t mean all I said. We shall ex- 
pect you to call as usual. Sue wanted me to tell 
you that she wants to see you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“ You can stop when you are passing.” 

“All right.” 

There was a double wedding at Elder Moore’s 
in September. Sue and Mary both wore white 
satin. Mary suggested something more service- 


192 A minister’s probation. 

able for herself, but Sue said the white would col- 
or beautifully, and a black satin would be nice for 
a minister’s wife, and would last a lifetime. 

The Ashland congregation was pleased with the 
match, and rejoiced that the preacher for whom 
Elder Moore did not want to vote married his 
daughter. They raised his salary to six hundred 
dollars, and gave him a wedding present of a nice 
buggy. The first use made of it was to take Mary 
on a wedding trip to the old homestead in Pennsyl- 
vania. He had been gone nearly two years, and 
he and his lovely young wife were received with 
joy and rejoicing. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The Donation Party. 

The congregation at Ashland flourished under 
the administration of Martin. The parsonage was 
a nice, rather large brick house on Chestnut 
Street, and was owned by the father-in-law of the 
pastor. 

The preacher had got into an ambitious, world- 
ly family, and the congregation felt that they must 
do the fair thing by him, or he would be looking 
for broader fields. Rumors of “calls”' from 
neighboring vacant churches, and from distant 
fields, reached them, but none had taken definite 
shape. Sometimes they feared that they would 
lose him in the near future, but he continued to 
serve them, and they decided to show their appre- 
ciation by a donation party. 

A committee was appointed to see what the 
people were willing to give, and to notify those 
whose presents were too frequently duplicated that 
changes might be made. They were to have the 
part}^ in the afternoon, for the convenience of the 
country people, and the family were notified, so 
that they would be at home. 

Sue told Mary to prepare for a “ visitation,” and 
went to work with her usual energy to help, 
13 ( 193 ) 


194 A minister’s probation. 

“You will not be any richer when it is over; and 
if I can help it, you shall not be any poorer.” 

“ I wish they would not have it. I do not want 
the house all mussed up.” 

“You cannot tell them so, but you can be chair- 
man on the occasion, and lock up the rooms you 
hold sacred.” 

“ That would be the whole house.” 

“You cannot do that.” 

“Cannot do what?” inquired Martin, coming 
into the dining room, where the plotters were at 
work. 

“ Lock up the house Thursday afternoon.” 

‘ ‘ Of course not. Why should we lock up ? We 
shall be glad to see our friends.” 

“You do not want them all at once; the car- 
pets will be ruined,” replied Sue. 

“ I am uneasy about the supper,” said Mary. 

“ I am afraid there will not be enough to eat.” 

“You cannot be expected to prepare supper for 
the whole congregation. Do not have any,” 
suggested Martin. 

“Brother Paul, they would ask for your resigna- 
tion.” 

“They are not coming for something to eat.” 

“ Some of them are not, and some of them are. 
Every one of them will expect a square meal, but 
they expect to get it up.” 

“It makes me nervous to think about it,” said 
Mary. 

“Do not get sick over it,” advised Sue. 


THE DONATION PARTY. 1 95 

“ If it proves to be unpleasant, we shall have to 
accept it as a part of our probation,” laughed 
Martin. 

“If you will appoint me commander in chief, 
I will make it nice, and save your nerves, and 
it shall not break you up, any way,” promised 
Sue. 

Sister Sue was an oracle in that establishment, 
and she was cordially given pernlission to manage 
the donation party as seemed wise in her own 
eyes. She issued her orders as if she were born 
Queen of Ashland, and had worn the purple all 
her life. 

A wagon was sent to the schoolhouse, and all 
the benches and loose seats were taken and dis- 
tributed around the parsonage front yard. Mrs. 
Hood thanked her stars that the spirit had moved 
the good people in the summer. An abundance 
of lumber was borrowed from a sawmill, and ta- 
bles were put up in the large back yard, which 
was cool and shady. The house was put in per- 
fect order, and no changes were made in any of 
the arrangements. The supper committee was 
given possession of the kitchen, and told to make 
themselves at home. The dining' room was set 
apart as the receptacle for the donations. Baby 
Sue’s crib was taken out on the porch just as it 
was on any other afternoon. Robert was dressed 
in his best clothes and told to be a good boy. 
The pastor put on his church coat, and his wife 
wore a new gingham. 


196 A minister’s probation. 

Bell Moore took charge of the dining room, de- 
claring she wanted a chance to steal the money. 

Mr. and Mrs. Martin received their guests on 
the porch, where there were a few chairs. Elder 
Samuel West and family were the first arrivals, 
and were greeted kindly. “ Will you go into the 
parlor, or would you rather stay out here?” in- 
quired Mrs. Martin. 

“ O, stay out here. It’s so much cooler.” 

That settled it. 

“Where’ll we take the things?” inquired the 
elder. 

A young man whom Mrs. Hood had pressed 
into her service for such an emergency went with 
him and helped him unload. What was intended 
for the pastor was taken to the dining room, and 
what was designed for the supper was taken to the 
kitchen or cellar. Mr. West remembered that he 
was an elder, and that the elders ought to set a 
good example before the members. He brought 
a nice country-cured ham, a round of dried beef, 
and a keg of cider vinegar for the preacher, and 
his wife brought chicken, bread, and pies toward 
the supper. 

In a short tirtie Martin and the men were out in 
the yard, and it was not long until the women 
were there also, and it became a lawn party. Bon- 
nets and hats were placed on a table on the porch 
that was not needed for anything else. Every- 
body was invited into the parlor, but no one want- 
ed to go. 


THE DONATION PARTY. 

A boy approached driving a nice-looking cow. 
“Mr. Jim Hood couldn’t come, but he sent you 
this cow, and said to tell you she’s the best cow in 
Ashland County, and she’s to belong to little 
Sue.” 

“Bring her right into the dining room.” called 
out Bell, who had been watching for her arrival. 
A chorus of laughter greeted that order, which 
was modified and the cow was driven into the alley 
leading to the stable until a better arrangement 
could be made. 

“Guess what I have brought?” said cheery 
Mrs. Sims, with whom Martin had boarded in his 
bachelor days. 

“ I have not the least idea,” replied Mrs. Mar- 
tin. 

“ I may as well tell, for you never will guess. 
Forlorn widow women, like me cannot afford flour 
and potatoes, so I went to work and made three 
big kettles of soap, two of soft, and one of hard, 
and I had the best luck I ever had, for you never 
saw better soap, and I made Mr. Morgan give me 
a brand new soap trough to put it in, and I watched 
for Robinson’s wagon to get it over. Bell wanted 
them to put it in the dining room, but they are 
putting it in the cellar, while there are men here 
to help.” 

“lam much obliged to you. It will be very use- 
ful. I could not keep house without soap.” 

“I made a chicken pie, and baked some light 
cakes for supper. I thought I would tell you, for 


198 A minister’s probation. 

I wanted you to know that I have done my 
share.” 

Mrs. Sims had a kind heart, and always did her 
share of every good work. She had told Martin 
that no one raised as extravagantly as the Moore 
girls were was fit for a preacher’s wife, but she 
had no grudge against him because he had ignored 
the information. 

“I have brought the little things.” Mrs. Brown, 
the grocer’s wife took a large basket from the boy 
who carried it for her, and placed the contents on 
the dining room table. They consisted of pepper, 
spice, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, soda, ginger, 
and a three-pound package of tea.” 

Elder Robinson brought a barrel of flour. 

“I did not have a solitary thing to bring but 
dried fruit,” apologized Mrs. Reed. “I had a 
notion not to come, but he said we would not be 
expected to give what we did not have.” 

“ Certainly not, but dried fruit is nice, and very 
acceptable,” replied Bell, as Mr. Reed entered 
with dried apples, peaches, pears, and a small pack- 
age of currants and plums. 

“I wonder whaf her father will give ? ” 

“O, he is always giving them something. I do 
not expect he will give anything to-day. He gives 
them the house rent free.” 

“Yes, I know; but he is rich, he never misses 
it.” 

Elder Moore came just as supper was announc- 
ed. “You are quite a lively party. I am glad 


THE DONATION PARTY. 


199 


you are enjoying yourselves. Mary, I have not 
forgotten that you have a sweet tooth. I ordered a 
barrel of sugar, and it will be here in a few min- 
utes.’’ 

Everybody had brought some dishes and some 
cutlery. All ate at once ; there was no second 
table except for those who served at the first. The 
pastor asked a blessing. One glance at the load- 
ed tables assured Mrs. Martin that her fears that 
there would not be enough to eat were groundless. 
She was a guest in her own home, for it was a 
congregational supper. The fragments were gath- 
ered up and placed in the cellar, for no one 
thought of taking anything home. Each woman 
hunted up her own dishes and put them into her 
own basket. It would be easy to wash them at 
home, and it saved time at the party. All gathered 
in the front yard. Young men and maidens sat 
on the grass. A few aged ones occupied the 
chairs on the porch. When it was almost time to 
go, the Bible was brought out, and the people 
sung: 

“ Behold how good a thing it is, 

And how becoming well: 

Together such as brethren are 
In unity to dwell.” 

The pastor then read a chapter and offered 
prayer. The sun was sinking in the west when 
the people reluctantly prepared to go. One after 
another the wagons rattled away, and then the 
village folks asked for their bonnets. When the 


200 


A minister’s probation. 


last one was gone Mrs. Hood turned to her sister 
and her husband. “ I vote that it was a success.” 

“Everything is a success, that you take in 
hand,” said Martin gallantly. 

“Everybody behaved beautifully. No damage 
was done, and the house is not even dirty.” 

“Nobody was in it, except the dining room 
and kitchen,” replied Mary. 

“ Nobody wanted to come in. All they needed 
was a little managing. I’m glad it’s over,” said 
Sue as she sat down in a rocking chair for a little 
rest before starting to her own elegant home. Bell 
came out. “ It was splendid ! It will take you all 
forenoon to-morrow to put things away. Here 
is an inventory, I would advise you to learn it by 
heart, so that you will never hurt anybody’s feel- 
ings by not knowing what every one brought.” 

Mary took the list. “Two quilts;” she ex- 
claimed.” 

“ Yes, and there is fifteen pounds of new feath- 
ers from Mrs. Matthews. They have just picked 
their geese. You can get a few more, and make 
another feather bed. You have been wanting an- 
other.” 

“ It certainly paid,” said Mr Martin. What 
made you all so afraid of it?” 

“ Let me tell you, my dear brother,” replied 
Mrs. Hood, “ this was no ordinary donation party.” 

“No, it was not,” added Bell. “There is pie 
and chicken and cake enough in the cellar to last 
a month.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
Promoted. 


The fame of the Rev. Paul Martin spread 
throughout all that region of country. The preach- 
er at Urbana resigned his charge for a more impor- 
tant pastorate, and the congregation invited Mar- 
tin to occupy their vacant pulpit for a Sabbath. 
He secured a substitute for his own work, and 
again he preached a trial sermon. It was not called 
by that name, but it was so regarded by all the 
parties concerned. He did not preach himself, but 
he preached the gospel, and it was to the credit of 
Urbana that they wanted him to succeed the one 
who had gone out from among them. Ashland 
understood when he went just what it meant, and 
they were not much frightened. He had broken 
for them the bread of life for seven years. They 
had raised his salary to six hundred dollars when 
he married, and were then paying him seven hun- 
dred, and his father-in-law furnished the parsonage, 
which was about the same as if done by the con- 
gregation. Furthermore, all his wife’s people 
were there, her parents and both her sisters and 
their families. It was thought that she would not 
want to sunder all these ties and go off among 
strangers ; and even if the salary should be a little 
larger, they would lose money by it. 


( 201 ) 


•202 


A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 


Urbana undoubtedly broke the tenth command- 
ment when she coveted her neighbor’s pastor, but 
she knew there were plenty of other preachers 
quite good enough for Ashland, and she did not 
know any one that suited her quite as well as he 
did. The session met to take the preliminary 
steps toward securing a preacher, which meant Mr. 
Martin. There were other candidates in the field, 
and each had his friends. Some were without 
work and could be obtained cheaper than he, and 
some would probably require more. The session 
was unanimous for Martin, but they hardly knew 
how to proceed. The question of salary was of 
the utmost importance. They knew what he got 
in his present field, and he could not be expected 
to move, and above all to take his wife and three 
little ones away from all their folks without some 
compensation. It was finally decided to call a con- 
gregational meeting, and vote for a pastor, leaving 
the salary to be decided after it was definitely 
known who was the people’s choice. This meet- 
ing was presided over by Elder Patterson. When 
nominations were in order Mr. Miller nominated 
the Rev. John Carroll. 

“Any others ? ” 

The Rev. Paul Martin.” 

“Any others?” 

“ The Rev. Samuel Edwards.” 

“Any others?” 

“ The Rev. Joseph Duffy.” 

“Any others ? ” 


PROMOTED. 


203 


‘‘The Rev. James Hammond.” 

“Any others? ” 

The silence was conclusive evidence that there 
was not. The conflict narrowed down until there 
were but two candidates in the field, Paul Martin 
and Samuel Edwards. The members stood up 
and were counted. The result was announced: 
the Rev. Samuel Edwards, sixty-seven ; the Rev. 
Paul Martin, one hundred and twenty-one. 

On motion, the vote was made unanimous, and 
then again arose the vexed question of salary. In 
accordance with an arrangement made at the meet- 
ing of the session. Elder Washburne was called 
on to make a statement. He told them all about 
the work at Ashland, and the amount of salary 
paid. He explained the domestic ties of the pas- 
tor elect in that place, and entreated the people to 
devise liberal things. They numbered almost two 
hundred members, and were able to pay, and 
ought to pay, enough to secure the man whom 
they had unanimously elected. He reminded 
them that it would not redound to their credit 
if they failed on account of the meager salary 
offered. Some of them almost wished they had 
voted for a less important personage, or at least 
a cheaper man ; but having put their hands to the 
plow, they would not look backward. The salary 
was finally fixed at a thousand dollars, which was 
exceedingly liberal. A ‘ ‘ call ’ ’ was duly forward- 
ed to Martin, and by him cordially accepted. The 
next Sabbath, after the singing of the last psalm, he 


204 ^ MINISTER S PROBATION. 

arose in his pulpit and said: “ It becomes my pain- 
ful duty to announce to you my resignation of this 
pastoral charge, to take place in one month. On 
four weeks from to-day I will preach my farewell 
sermon, and the Rev. Jesse Mills will preach the 
second sermon and declare the pulpit vacant.” 

As the people passed out it was evident that a 
thunderbolt had fallen among them. 

The “call” had come and found them unpre- 
pared. They gathered together in excited groups, 
and discussed the situation. Various suggestions 
were made. 

“Let’s call a meeting.” 

“Let’s raise his salary.” 

“We can pay as much as Urbana.” 

“It’s not right to call a settled preacher. Why 
didn’t they call some one that had no church? 
There are plenty of them.” 

Elders Robinson and Reed were informally ap- 
pointed to confer with the pastor and see if any- 
thing could be done. 

Martin received them kindly and listened to what 
they had to say. In reply he told them that it 
was not altogether a question of salary. There 
were many other considerations of very great im- 
portance. Among them was that of schools. His 
children must be educated, and, while the Ashland 
school would serve for the present, there would 
come a time when he would have to send them 
away to complete their education, and when that 
time came he might not have an opportunity to 


PROMOTED. 


205 


move to any place so noted for the excellence of 
its schools. There were other social advantages 
greatly to be desired. It gave him a larger field 
of labor and increased his opportunities for useful- 
ness. He regarded it as a call from the Lord, and 
dared not decline it. 

They left feeling that their case was hope- 
less, but they did not blame him. No one blamed 
him, for they knew it was best for him and his 
family, and they conceded his right to accept 
his chances as they came to him, while they 
were sorry for themselves and indignant at Ur- 
bana. He preached his farewell sermon in the 
golden month of October, to the largest audience 
he had ever addressed. He reviewed his life in 
his study. He had spent about a year in the mis- 
sionary work, and seven in that pastorate. 

It was only eight years since he had that terrible 
fever and had thought that life was not worth liv- 
ing. During these years he had eaten that bread 
which comes down from heaven, and drank 
freely of the water of life. He was blessed 
with a worthy wife, three lovely little ones, Rob- 
ert, Sue, and Tom. His feeling was of deep 
thankfulness as he selected his text from the 
thirteenth chapter of Second Corinthians: “Fi- 
nally, brethren; farewell. Be perfect, be of good 
comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the 
God of love and peace shall be with you.” 

It was preached, as was the custom when so 
many people were present, in the woods. No 


2o6 a minister's probation. 

church in Ashland County would have held the 
congregation. The grove selected for the occa- 
sion was just a little way out of town, and was 
the one used for picnics and Fourth of July ora- 
tions. 

Martin did his best, and his effort was a decided 
success. There were present some who had never 
heard him before, and such wondered that his 
people could let him go. He talked separately to 
the session, to the old, to the middle-aged, and to 
the young. He preached Jesus to all of them, and 
there was hardly a dry eye in that vast concourse 
of people when his voice trembled with his last 
pastoral words: “ Finally, brethren, farewell.” 

Like all Psalm-singing people in their trouble, 
they fell back upon the twenty-third Psalm, and 
made the grove ring with melody as they con- 
cluded the service with singing: 

“The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want. 

Ke makes me down to lie 
In pastures green, he leadeth me 
The quiet waters by.” 

After the usual intermission the Rev. Jesse 
Mills preached in the same place, and at the con- 
clusion of the services he declared the pulpit of 
the Presbyterian Church vacant. 

To move from Ashland to Urbana was quite an 
undertaking. They began their preparations with 
a public sale, as suggested by Mrs. Hood. Every- 
body was there without regard to Church affin- 
ities, and all wanted something that had belonged 


PROMOTED. 


207 


to the Martins. All the heavy furniture was dis- 
posed of at a fair price, most of it being bought 
by those who felt that it would add to their digni- 
ty to own the preacher’s furniture. There was 
not the financial sacrifice that usually accompanies 
a move, that necessitates disposing of personal 
property. Even the rolling-pin and nutmeg grater 
were put up in obedience to a demand for more, and 
were bought to be sacredly preserved as memen- 
tos. As soon as it was known that they were 
going, Elder Moore met with a purchaser for the 
parsonage, and, as he had no further use for it, he 
sold it. Mary and the children were left with her 
mother while her husband and father went to the 
new field. It was considered best for Martin to 
go on in advance of his family, and return for 
them when he had secured a suitable home. 
Moore proposed to go with him, telling him 
that he wanted to see the country and the hea- 
then among whom his future lot was to be cast. 
They went in the buggy, and the china and 
silver, beds and books, and such things as 
they would not sell, were taken in a wagon 
drawn by strong horses. They arrived on Satur- 
day evening, and the recently elected pastor 
preached his first sermon to his parishioners the 
next morning from the words: “ There is a friend 
that sticketh closer than a brother.” 

His reception was kind, but there was less dem- 
onstration than among the country people of his 
late work. If he doubted the wisdom of his deci- 


2o8 


A minister’s probation. 


sion, he kept his doubts to himself. Early in the 
week the session and leading members were con- 
sulted about a parsonage, and they were delighted 
when they found that Moore wanted to buy a home 
for his children. He was treated with great le- 
spect, as he deserved to be, for he was the father- 
in-law of the minister, and besides that he was 
one of the wealthiest and most influential citizens of 
Ashland, and had a little money to invest in Ur- 
bana. The people entertained him gladly in their 
homes and helped him in hunting up a suitable 
place, which was soon found. The house was a 
plain, unpretending brick, not very different from 
the one they had left. It had a substantial founda- 
tion, and there was a large yard with trees, and a 
garden, and a stable with carriage house attached. 
The purchaser looked well to the title, and, finding 
that it was unquestioned, the price was agreed upon 
and the deed was made out to “ Mrs. Mary Mar- 
tin, during the term of her natural life, and at her 
death to become the property of her children, or 
their heirs forever. ” 

He had the deed recorded in the proper office, 
and a place was found for the family who were 
living in the house. They kindly vacated the 
premises at once, a month’s rent being paid for 
them in their new home in return for their willing- 
ness to oblige the new owner. 

Workmen were immediately put to work, and 
paint and paper accomplished such wonders that 
the neighbors hardly knew the place. When 


PROMOTED. 


209 


the work was well under way, Elder Little 
was authorized to supervise the remainder; and 
if more money was needed, bills were to be 
presented to Martin on his return. That gen- 
tleman knew, when he had chosen this place 
in consultation, that Father Moore intended to 
buy the property decided upon, but he supposed 
it would be like the parsonage in Ashland, in 
his own name. He understood that he was to 
pay the taxes, and keep it in repair, as he had 
done that. They both returned to Ashland well 
pleased with the investment. The father was glad 
that his daughter could not put herself out of 
a home, and the husband was glad of his increased 
‘ facilities for doing his work, and the greater ad- 
vantages the change would afford his wife and 
children. They reached home on Thursday. 
While they had been gone the minister’s family* 
had been the honored guests of the community. 
Martin did not want to preach on Sabbath, for he 
had said farewell. They started early on Saturday 
morning, and went that day to Wooster, where 
they had friends whom they wanted to see. They 
stayed until Monday, and then started in earnest. 

Mr. Jim Hood bought a new carriage while Fa- 
ther Moore and Martin were in Urbana, and as 
the one he already had was the best in the neigh- 
borhood, he was supposed to be putting on a good 
deal of style even for a rich man, when he made 
that purchase, but when it was known that he had 
traded his “good enough for anybody” carriage 
H 


210 


A minister’s probation. 


to Martin for his one-horse buggy, without boot, 
he was pronounced the cleverest man in Ashland. 

The journey was made by easy stages. Robert 
occupied the front seat with his father. Mrs. Mar- 
tin, Sue, and baby Tom occupied the back seat. 
They drove into Urbana and stopped by invitation 
at the hospitable home of Elder Little, who went 
down the walk and met them in person. After 
supper Mrs. Martin wanted to go and see her fu- 
ture home, but was persuaded to wait until morn- 
ing. That was prayer meeting night, and the pas- 
tor’s arrival was announced by his presence. In 
the morning Mr. Little told the preacher’s wife 
that the key of the parsonage was missing, but that 
he would hunt it up and come back for her. Just 
then a messenger came with an urgent call for the 
preacher to go a mile into the country. They 
told him he had better drive out and see the sick 
man, and take his wife and baby, and he could re- 
turn by Elder Little’s and get the key. 

Mrs. Martin had driven enough for that week; 
but the plan was laid down for her, and she saw no 
means of escape, and reluctantly consented to 
obey. When they reached the place they were 
surprised to find that Mr. Meloy was only slightly 
indisposed. He was sitting on the porch, and the 
family were evidently expecting them. Mrs. Mar- 
tin declined the invitation to take off her wrap. 

“ O, you must ! You are going to stay to dinner.” 

“ We cannot stay to-day. We will come some 
other time.” 


PROMOTED. 


2II 


“ Never put off until to-morrow what can be 
done to-day/’ quoted the invalid. 

“We have got the chicken killed,” volunteered 
one of the children. 

A warning glance from the lady of the house 
prevented further revelations. It seemed strange 
to Mrs. Martin that she should be expected to visit 
that day, when she was so anxious to get into her 
own home. Dinner was very late for the country, 
it being after one o’clock when they rose from the 
table. Mrs. Martin spoke to her husband in an 
aside: “ Let us go now.” 

“As soon as we can.” 

As soon as they dared they proposed returning 
to town, and found that the boys had turned the 
horses loose in the lower meadow. It took time 
to get them ready, so that it was two o’clock when 
they drew up at Elder Little’s gate. 

“You hold the horses, and I will get the key. 
We will not stop,” said Martin. 

A servant went to the door and gave him the 
key, and told him there was no one at home ex- 
cept herself. When again in the carriage Martin 
drove off at a rapid rate in the direction of the 
parsonage. 

“I do not expect them to stay at home for 
us,” said Mrs. Martin; “but it seems strange. I 
suppose they will take care of the children if 
they took them with them. I wish we were at 
home.” 

“ This is the place,” 


212 


A minister’s probation. 


“ O, it is so nice and quiet-looking.” 

“Yes, I think you will like it.” 

Mrs. Little ran down the walk to meet them. 
“ Let me hold the baby while you get out. You 
stayed so long, I came over to see if you had 
come the other road.” 

“ I thought we never would get here.” 

“You are here now, and you will likely have 
long enough to stay. Just come right in and make 
yourself at home.” 

As she entered the gate the truth dawned upon 
her. It was a surprise party, and they had been 
sent to the country to get them out of the way 
while the preparations were being made. In a 
few minutes the Meloy family put in an appear- 
ance, and that gentleman took pleasure in telling 
what a time they had holding their guests, and 
told Mrs. Martin that he was preparing a place to 
hide the baby when she yielded to milder persua- 
sions. It was known that the minister had moved a 
long distance, and had not been able to take much 
of his household goods. Every one who went to the 
surprise was expected to leave a substantial token 
behind. A great many things were taken that 
cost a trifle in detail, but a good deal in the aggre- 
gate. Pans and kettles and tinware abounded. 
The house was as clean as it could be made. 
Good taste had selected and put up shades before 
all the windows. A bedstead had been put up in 
the room which it was supposed Mrs. Martin 
would use for her own, and a feather bed which 


PROMOTED. 


213 


prying eyes had discovered in a box was airing so 
that it could be used that night if wanted. A 
rocking-chair for the mother and a crib for the 
baby were on hand. 

There was no supper, simply a reception. The 
family received' many invitations to spend the 
night, but they preferred staying in their new 
home, and as soon as that was known the people 
took their departure, that they might enjoy the 
rest they so much needed. An abundance of 
cooked food was sent in, and Robert and Sue were 
taken away and brought back the next day. 

The Presbytery to which he was transferred 
convened in his church, and duly installed the 
Rev. Paul Martin as pastor of the Presbyterian 
Church of Urbana. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The Unwelcome Guest. 

Martin was thirty-five years old when he en- 
tered upon his pastorate at Urbana. The first ten 
years were fraught with many changes. Rail- 
roads were built and the telegraph was put to 
practical use. Progress became the watchword 
of the times, and Martin and his congregation 
kept pace with the rest of mankind. They intro- 
duced the use of hymns into the worship of the 
sanctuary, and soon after the organ. There were 
many who regarded these innovations with distrust, 
but they were approved by the General Assembly, 
and adopted by the other churches of their de- 
nomination, and Urbana could not afford to be be- 
hind the times. Even some of the elders drew 
the line at the choir, but a few good singers sat 
together to lead in the singing, and those singers 
had to have a name as a matter of convenience, 
and soon they were called the “ choir” by com- 
mon consent, because no better name was sug- 
gested. The congregation was in a flourishing 
condition. 

Other Presbyterian churches had been built in 
the country, and some of the farmers had found 
places in those, but the membership had increased 
notwithstanding that depletion of their ranks. 

( 214 ) 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


215 


Three more children had been added to the 
family in the parsonage, which made six, that 
were growing up as olive branches round about 
the table. They promised a larger salary when 
they called Martin than any other preacher was 
getting in that vicinity, and as much as they had 
been able to pay. Consequently it had not been 
raised. 

One lovely May morning Robert came in with 
the mail. “A letter from Aunt Sue,” and he 
tossed the missive into his mother’s lap, to whom 
it was addressed. As she read a look of sadness 
crept into her usually placid face. 

“Anything the matter?” inquired her husband. 

“Yes, father is sick.” 

“ Seriously?” 

“ I am afraid so,” as she handed him the letter. 
During the sixteen years of their married life they 
had been visited with affliction. Martin had been 
called to Pennsylvania, and had seen the light go 
out of his childhood’s home in the death of his 
precious mother. Mrs. Hood had been called to 
give into the Savior’s arms two of her children, 
while they were less than a year old. Bell had 
parted with her only son, a golden-haired boy of 
four summers. 

The death angel had never entered the parson- 
age, and none of the inmates had ever been dan- 
gerously sick. When Martin finished reading the 
letter he handed it back to his wife. “You must 
go at once.” 


2i6 a minister's probation* 

“ How can we?” 

“It must be accomplished, if you feel able for 
the journey.” 

“ Yes, I am able to go; I want to go, if I can,” 
and she burst into tears. 

There was no rail communication between Ur- 
bana and Ashland, hence they would have to go 
in the carriage. Hurried arrangements were made. 
Robert was left at Elder Little’s and was to take 
an oversight of the parsonage. He was then fif- 
teen years of age and could be trusted. Sue and 
Tom were left at Elder Patterson’s and were given 
permission to spend part of the time in the country 
at Mr. Meloy’s. The three youngest children, 
Bell, Jim, and Phebe, who was only two years old, 
and was still considered the baby, were taken 
along. Kind neighbors and an efficient servant 
lent willing hands and rendered valuable help in 
the hasty preparations for the unexpected depar- 
ture, so that in two hours from the time they re- 
ceived the tidings bidding them hasten to the bed- 
side of the stricken father they were on the way. 
They drove into Ashland at twilight, and hurried 
the tired horses up to the old home. They had 
heard on the road the day before that there was 
no hope of the recovery of the loved one. Fred 
Cresap, Bell’s husband, saw them coming, and 
waited at the gate to receive them. 

“ How is he ? ” inquired Martin. 

“About the same.” 

There was relief in those words. The long. 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


217 


tiresome journey had not been made in vain, since 
the father was still living. He had been stricken 
with paralysis, and was perfectly helpless, not be- 
ing able to move hand or foot. His organs of 
speech were only partially affected, and he could 
speak a few words occasionally. When Mrs. 
Martin was taken into his room, he evidently rec- 
ognized her. 

She controlled her emotion, and as she took a 
chair by his bedside she said gently: “My dear 
father.” 

He looked lovingly at her, and with what seemed 
to be a great effort replied: “ My dear Mary.” 

Martin went in a few moments later, and stood 
by the bed. “Father.” 

There was no reply, but soon the sick man 
glanced all around the room as if looking for 
something. 

“Father, do you want anything?” inquired 
Mrs. Hood, who was chief nurse and never left 
the house. 

Very feebly came the response: “Mary’s baby.” 

The three children were brought in, and Phebe 
was placed on his bed where he could see her. 
He smiled at the child but did not speak, and soon 
the children were sent out and Martin and his wife 
went to the room set apart for their use. 

Elder Moore slept better that night than he had 
done since he was stricken with that disease which 
strikes terror to the heart of every victim. It was 
noticed the next morning that he moved the fingers 


2i8 a minister’s probation* 

of his right hand, as if trying what he could do, 
and also that he could move his head slightly. He 
was a little better. They all noticed that he kept 
his eyes fixed upon Mary, and they supposed 
that he comprehended that she had been sent for, 
and had just arrived. The rest of the family had 
been with him throughout his sickness. Presently 
he spoke. “Where’s Martin?” 

“ Here I am, father.” 

“I want to see you.” 

They all waited, while Martin stood beside the 
bed to hear what he had to say. Again he glanced 
at Mary and seemed to forget or else he could not 
talk. He closed his eyes, and did not speak again 
for some time. He grew weaker, and it became 
evident that he could not last many days. Soon 
his time was counted by hours. “ Martin !” 

“I am right here, father.” 

Mary went up to the bed, and he looked at the 
door, and then at her. There could be no mis- 
take: he wanted her to leave the room. Wonder- 
ingly she went out. 

“ Is she bad? ” inquired Moore. 

“ She is not sick,” replied Martin. 

“ Mary is sick,” affirmed the father. 

They all looked at each other, and thought his 
mind must be wandering, although that was the 
first evidence they had seen of it. Mrs. Hood at- 
tempted to explain. “ Father, you are very sick, 
and we sent for Sister Mary to come and see you. 
She has been here two days, but she is not sick.” 


The unwelcome guest. 


219 


“ She looks bad.” 

“ She is tired after her long journey, and she is 
very anxious about you.” 

“Martin!” 

“ Father I” 

“ Take care of her.” 

“ Yes, father.” 

“ Martin!” 

“ Father!” 

“ Take care of Mary.” 

“ Yes, father.” 

“ Sue!” 

“ What, father? ” 

“ Help Martin.” 

“ Yes, father.” 

He closed his eyes as if perfectly satisfied, and 
did not speak again that day. The next day he 
sunk rapidly, and when night closed it was 
easily seen that he could not last until morning. 
His aged wife, who had walked hand in hand with 
him for forty-six years, was drinking the cup, which 
her Father was giving her, with all the heroism of 
Christian womanhood, realizing even then all the 
agonies of widowhood. His three daughters and 
their husbands waited with her in the chamber of 
death. The family physician was also present, 
and a friend or two who might be needed. The 
dying man seemed to understand. 

“ Doctor.” 

The physician was at his side in a moment. 

“Am I dying? ” 


220 


A minister’s probation. 


“ I fear you are.” 

“Are you ready? Have you any fears?” in- 
quired Martin. 

“ O no, none at all; I am ready.” Another si- 
lence. 

His faithful wife bowed her head upon his bed. 

“Don’t cry, mother. A little while.” As he 
spoke he raised his palsied hand, and laid it upon 
her head. A few more breaths, and Elder Moore 
had gone to his rest. He was mourned by the whole 
community, for a sincere Christian and a faithful 
friend had been suddenly taken from among them, 
and all felt a sense of personal loss. The bereaved 
family were not loud in the expression of their 
grief, but bowed in submission to the stroke, and 
not one of them, not even the aged widow, would 
have had him back. He had gone to the everlast- 
ing reward of an honorable, upright life, and his 
loved ones left behind were not selfish enough to 
want his earthly life and sufferings prolonged. 
Hard though it was to give him up, resignation was 
stamped upon their souls, and the language of their 
hearts was: “It is well.” He died on Friday 
night, and according to the custom of the neigh- 
hood the Sabbath would have been the proper day 
for the burial. Saturday would have been consid- 
ered too soon, and Monday too long to wait. The 
weather was cool for May, and they set the time for 
nine o’clock on Monday morning. The funeral was 
announced on Sabbath in all the churches in the 
village, and at the appointed hour a large company 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


221 


assembled to do honor to his memory. The serv- 
ices were conducted by his pastor, who likened 
the departed to a shock of wheat gathered into the 
garner when fully ripe. A large procession fol- 
lowed him to his last resting place in the church- 
yard at Ashland, the village in which his long, 
busy, useful life had been spent. On that Monday 
morning Mrs. Martin arose feeling very bad. 
Her husband entered the room just as she finished 
dressing. ‘‘ Breakfast is waiting.” 

“ Tell them not to wait. I do not want any.” 

“You must eat something, dear; you cannot 
keep up unless you do.” 

“ I cannot keep up any way; I feel so bad.” 

“ Yes, I know. We cannot expect anything else. 
I do not know how to comfort you. You must bear 
it the best you can. Come down to the dining 
room now.” 

They went down, and breakfast was eaten in si- 
lence. No one did more than make a pretense at 
eating. When they reached home after the fu- 
neral, Mrs. Martin went directly to her room, and 
it was thought best not to disturb her. A couple 
of hours later six-year-old Bell went downstairs. 
“ Where is papa? ” 

“ He is around somewhere. What do you 
want?” 

“ I want him to go for the doctor. My mamma 
is sick.” 

Mrs. Hood hurried to her sister’s room. “ Why, 
Mary ! are you sick ? ” 


222 


A minister’s probation. 


“Yes.” 

“ Why did you not tell us? ” 

“ I did tell Paul this morning, but he did not 
understand.” 

“ What is the matter with you? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

Mrs. Hood felt her pulse, and laid her hand on 
the throbbing brow. “You are all worn out.” 

“ So are you all worn out, but you are not down 
sick. I am afraid I am going to make you trouble.” 

“ If you are going to talk that way, I will think 
you have got the typhoid fever and are out of your 
head,” replied Mrs. Hood as she made an unsuc- 
cessful effort to force a laugh. 

Martin came in. “ Why, Mary! are you sick?” 

“Yes.” 

Mrs. Hood and Martin looked at each other. 
Mary sat up in the bed. “ I want to tell you two 
that I am nearly worried to death. What makes 
you keep that secret from me? ” 

“ What secret? ” 

“You know as well as I do, both of you; and 
you will not tell me, and you know it is killing 
me.” 

“ I will tell you anything you want to know, 
dear,” said her husband. 

“ So will I,” added her sister. 

“ What did father say about me when he sent 
me out of the room? What did he want? ” 

They were startled, for it all came back to them 
in an instant. They could not tell her just then 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 223 

that he thought she was sick, and had exacted a 
promise from both of them to take care of her. 

“ He could not talk much, you know. He never 
said but a word or two at a time,” replied her 
sister. 

“ What did he want? ” 

“As near as I could make out, he thought you 
were tired with your journey, and needed rest, 
for he spoke to Paul, and he said: ‘ Take care of 
her.’ ” 

“ Was that all?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Nothing else? ” 

“ No, dear. What else could there be? ” 

“ I do not know. That is what is troubling me. 
He did not need to send me out to say that,” 

“ Of course not. You do not know that he sent 
you out. He said nothing' that you might not have 
heard. It may be that he wanted to see Phebe, 
and was trying to motion you to go and get her. 
You know he asked for her the evening you 
came.” 

“ Then why did you not tell me?” 

“ I do not know that he wanted anything. There 
was certainly nothing to tell.” 

“Paul! ” 

“ What is it, dear? ” 

“ Father did not say I was going to die, or any- 
thing? ” 

“ Why, no. What put such things into your 
head?” 


224 ^ minister’s probation. 

“ Nothing, I suppose ; only I am sick, and I have 
worried so, because I thought he had told you 
something that you would not tell me. I have not 
been feeling well for a good while, and the ex- 
citement and the trip were too much for me. I 
thought he might have noticed it. Sick people 
do notice things.” She laid back on the pillow. 

“Yes, they do; and I think that father did no- 
tice that she was tired and was not looking well,” 
replied Sue, looking straight at Martin, “and that is 
what he meant when he said, ‘ Take care of her.’ ” 

“ I expect it was,” he replied promptly. 

Mary felt better, for she had indulged a vague 
sort of feeling that her father had said something 
about her that had been withheld from her. 

“ Hadn’t I better call the doctor?” asked Martin. 

“O no; I feel better. I need rest more than 
medicine.” 

Martin and Mrs. Hood consulted together in the 
dining room an hour later, and decided to wait 
until the next day before summoning medical aid. 
Mrs. Martin was up the next morning as usual, 
and went down to breakfast with a tired look on 
her face. 

“Are you rested?” inquired Mrs. Hood. 

“ I do not think I am.” 

Mrs. Moore was not able to leave her room. 
She was not exactly sick, but was worn out and 
overwhelmed with grief. Mrs. Martin went in to 
see her. “ How do you feel this morning, 
mother?” 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


225 

“lam feeling better, as well as I could expect. 
You look tired. Are you feeling well? ” 

“I am not very well, but not sick enough to 
stay in bed; I am all used up.” 

“ You need rest.” 

“ Yes, that is what I need.” 

They all rested a few days, when the children 
agreed that some plans for the future must be made. 
Mrs. Hood and Mrs. Cresap both felt that they 
must return to their own homes. Mrs. Hood had 
a large house and four children to care for, and, 
although Mrs. Cresap had a smaller establishment, 
her husband and her two little girls needed her. 

The mother could not live on alone in the old 
homestead with no other company than hcr serv- 
ant. She said nothing about it, for she did not 
seem to think. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hood, Mr. and Mrs. Cresap, and 
Martin gathered in the parlor and discussed the 
situation.. They thought it best that nothing should 
be said to their mother about living with her chil- 
dren as long^as Mrs. Martin remained. Any or 
all of them would be glad to have her. They all 
looked to Mrs. Hood for counsel, and she suggest- 
ed that Martin leave Mary and the children for the 
present, and return to his work, and he could come 
for them, or Mr. Cresap would take them home. 

Martin did not exactly like the plan, but he 
could think of nothing better, and the next morn- 
ing he approached his wife on the subject. “ Mary, 
what about going home?” 

15 


226 A minister’s PROBATION. 

“ I do not know. We must go. I suppose we 
ought to go right away.” 

“ Sue and Bell want me to leave you for a visit. 
You are not feeling well, and when you get strong- 
er I will come back for you. How would that 
suit you?” 

“ It would be nice. I should like to stay, but 
we should make them trouble here, and it will be 
so much trouble for you to come back, it is such 
a long trip.” 

“ I shall not mind that. Sue and I were talking 
about mother. She cannot live here alone, with 
nobody but Eliza, and it will be hard for her to 
leave the old home; and if you are willing to stay 
awhile, they will all be glad, and she may see for 
herself that some change must be made.” 

‘ ‘ What will she do ? ” 

“ We do not know yet. She will probably live 
with Sue or Bell.” 

“ I wish she could live with us.” 

“ I should be glad, but I should not advise it, 
for I do not think it a good plan for^old people to 
change their surroundings more than can be helped. 
She knows no one in Urbana, and she would be 
homesick and unhappy.” 

'‘Yes, she would. I will stay with her awhile.” 

Before Martin left, the attorney was called to 
read Elder Moore’s will to the family, and, as 
was expected, it was a fair, manly document. He 
provided generously for his wife, and in the end 
his property was to be divided equally among his 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


227 


three daughters. It was expressly stated that what 
had been given to Mary was a gift^ and was not 
to be deducted from her share of the estate. All 
his property except the homestead was to be sold 
within six months after his death, that his family 
might use the money if they desired. 

“What does that mean about Mary?” inquired 
Bell. 

“ It must mean the rent of the parsonage,” re- 
plied Martin. 

“We all knew he gave her that.” 

“I was under the impression that he had given 
her some real estate,” explained the attorney. 

They all remembered his concern for her at the 
last. 

“ I think he intended to, but perhaps had not 
done it,” suggested Sue. 

“ I am quite positive he told me he had,” per- 
sisted the attorney, who had always attended to 
dead man’s business. 

He gave a copy of the will to Hood, and anoth- 
er to Martin, they having been named execu- 
tors, and took his departure. Martin looked it 
over. “According to this we have to sell the par- 
sonage.” 

“You can buy it,” replied Hood. “ It will not 
amount to anything like Mary’s share of the es- 
tate, and she can have the house, if she prefers it 
to the money.” 

“ I certainly do,” spoke up Mary for the first 
time. 


228 A minister’s PROBATION. 

Martin left his wife with many misgivings, and 
returned to his home and his work with a heavy 
heart. It did not seem reasonable that her father’s 
death should have affected her so much more than 
it had either of her sisters, and he feared for her 
health. He was directed by the other heirs to put 
the parsonage up at a public sale and buy it for 
his wife. In obedience to those instructions he 
advertised it, and a day or two after he met Elder 
Patterson. 

“ What do you mean by advertising your 
house?” 

“ Father Moore’s will requires that all his real 
estate be sold, except the home. We expect to 
buy it if it does not go too high.” 

“ You cannot make a deed.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ I remember now, Moore did not want you to 
know. Go down to the Recorder’s office and ex- 
amine the title. Who has the deed? ” 

“ I do not know. I did not see it among father’s 
papers.” 

“You can find out something about it at the 
Recorder’s office.” 

Martin went to the courthouse. He did not 
know the property by number of lot and block, 
and he did not have a tax receipt with him. They 
looked in the index, and the name “ Robert 
Moore ” was not on record. 

“ Look at the Martins,” suggested the Re- 
corder, who was busy with other work. 


The unwelcome guest. 229 

The clerk found “ Mrs. Mary Martin and chil- 
dren.'’ 

“ Look that up.” 

They did so, and carefully pinned to the page, 
where recorded, was the original deed in a large 
envelope, and marked: “ Robert Moore. To be 
taken care of until called for.” The present in- 
cumbent of the office knew nothing about it, but he 
was sure it must be all right, and a little investiga- 
tion proved that it was. Moore had left the deed 
with Elder Little, and that gentleman had placed 
it in the office for safe-keeping. The instrument 
was delivered to Martin. 

Hood and Cresap were both in business, with 
many chances of making money, while Mary’s 
husband had nothing but his salary, and his pro- 
fession forbade his giving his time or his talent to 
the accumulation of property. They were all glad 
when he sent them a certified copy of the record, 
and asked what he should do. There was nothing 
that could be done but to withdraw the advertise- 
ment and insert in its place a four-line statement 
that there had been a mistake in regard to the pro- 
posed sale. 

Mrs. Martin did not regain strength, and Mrs. 
Hood consulted the family physician about her. 
He thought there was no occasion for alarm, but 
advised a tonic, something to build her up, and 
gave her a preparation of iron. As the weather 
became warmer she began to cough. “I must 
have taken cold,” she said. 


' 1^0 A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

If it was a cold, it did not yield to the simple 
remedies that were used for the purpose of break- 
ing it up. She began to get homesick, and told 
Sue one evening that something must be done 
about their mother, for she must surely write for 
Paul to come for her. It had never entered her 
head that she was staying for anything except to 
care for her mother. 

“ I am going to send Dr. Wilson up to take 
that cough in hand before you go,” replied Mrs. 
Hood. 

The doctor called the next day and made a thor- 
ough examination and left some medicines. He 
went directly to Hood’s. “ What is the matter 
with Mrs. Martin?” 

“ That is what I wanted you for. Have you 
seen her? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What is the matter with her? ” 

“ She is all run down. She does not seem to 
have any constitution. I do not think she has any 
particular disease.” 

“ Is she in any danger? ” 

“ How old is she? ” 

“ She is forty.” 

“ How many children has she? ” 

“Six.” 

“Are they all here? ” 

“No; three are here. She wants to go home.” 

He shook his head. 

“ Is she able to go? ” 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 23I 

“ O yes, but it would probably be hard on her, 
and perhaps it would not be best.” 

“lam not sure that I understand you.” 

“ If she should get down sick, you could not be 
with her as you can if she stays here, and her 
mother could not see her at all.” 

“ Then you think she is going to be down? ” 

“ I am afraid so.” 

“ I do not know what to do.” 

“ I should write for her husband and the rest of 
the children to come on, and all be here together, 
if I were in your place.” 

Mrs. Hood rose and stood before him. She 
grasped his arm. “ Is she going to die? ”, 

“ Not now. Careful nursing may do much, but 
I do not think she will live a year. She has given 
her whole life to her husband and her children, 
and now let him resign his charge and do what can 
be done for her, while she needs it.” 

The doctor left, and Mrs. Hood sat down to 
think. She sent for Bell and her husband to come 
and take supper with her, as she wanted to see 
them on important business. They looked the 
matter calmly in the face. They had all been un- 
easy about her, and while they did not give her up, 
and conclude that she must die, they knew that 
she was in a very critical condition. 

Mrs. Hood wrote to her brother-in-law and told 
him some of the facts and advised him to resign 
his work and bring the children home and live with 
their mother until his wife’s health was restored. 


232 A minister’s probation. 

Martin wrote his resignation in a few lines and 
left it with Elder Little, with the key of his house. 
Some boxes were packed with clothing and sent to 
Ashland. He and the children went in the car- 
riage. Mrs. Martin was told that her husband 
needed a vacation, and since her mother could not 
live alone, she was asked as a great favor to spend 
the summer there. Her objections were overruled 
and she consented, and did not seem very much 
surprised when told that Paul had been written to 
and might come along any day. She was glad 
when they did come and the family were all to- 
gether again. 

An esteemed unmarried middle-aged cousin was 
induced to go and take charge of the housekeep- 
ing, and the wheels of the domestic machinery 
moved smoothly. Mary went out occasionally, 
and some days she seemed almost well, but her 
cough grew worse as winter cdme on. The doc- 
tor asked them to call another physician in con- 
sultation, and when the specialist came it was 
made his duty to communicate the result to the dis- 
tressed family. The lady had consumption, but 
might last until spring. There was no appeal. 
They did not tell her, but she seemed to realize it. 
In February she ceased to leave her room, and 
when the blustering March winds came she shiv- 
ered with every blast, and did not leave her bed. 
She lingered all through April, ministered to with 
loving hands, and every want anticipated. On the 
first day of May she told Paul and Sue that they 


THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 


233 


must take her place in the care of the children, 
and, having received their promise, she closed her 
eyes and fell asleep in Jesus. 

Martin met the death of his beloved wife with 
a Christian fortitude that could hardly have been 
expected of him. He bowed beneath the chastening 
rod, and stood at the open grave with his six moth- 
erless children, his will in complete submission to 
that of his Heavenly Father. They buried her be- 
side the parent, who had preceded her less than a 
year to the celestial mansion prepared for them. 
She had been Martin’s wife seventeen years, and 
now that she was gone he must again take up his 
work. 

He proposed to move his family to Urbana, and 
to live in their own house until he found an open 
field. Mother Moore was too old to take the care 
of six motherless children, and no one thought of 
placing the burden upon her shoulders. She her- 
self suggested the propriety of her living with Sue, 
and the suggestion was received with delight by all 
the family. When Martin reached his home he 
was surprised to find that the session of his church 
had been in constant correspondence with his 
friends, and that the consideration of his resigna- 
tion had been indefinitely postponed. He was still 
their pastor, and his return was hailed with joy, 
mingled with sadness and grief for the greatly be- 
loved helpmeet left behind in the Ashland church- 
yard. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Housekeepers. 

Martin’s family consisted of himself and his 
six children. Robert, the eldest, was sixteen years 
old when his mother died; and Phebe, the young- 
est, was three. The vexed servant question be- 
came a problem of no easy solution with him. 
Sue, the eldest daughter, was fourteen. She need- 
ed a mother’s care as much as Phebe did. The 
maiden who had done the cooking before they 
left Urbana had gone to preside over a household 
of her own. It was harder to find a girl to suit 
them than it had been to find a house when they 
went to the place ten years before. No one that 
could be had to do the work could be expected 
to take proper care of the children. A house- 
keeper was a necessity. Mrs. Jones, a middle- 
aged widow, after much persuasion, consented to 
act in that capacity. She was a good housekeep- 
er and an excellent manager; and if she could 
have put old heads on 3^oung shoulders, all might 
have gone well. She never had any children of 
her own, and she did not understand them. When 
Martin had furnished her with funds for meeting 
the expenses, and had given her the entire charge, 
he considered that his responsibility ended. He 
did not expect his housekeeper to be a mother to 
( 234 ) 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 


235 


his children, for no one could take her place, but 
he did expect Mrs. Jones to watch over them and 
train them according to the best of her ability, and 
she understood it so. She was a conscientious 
woman, and spared neither time nor trouble in her 
efforts to perform what she considered her duty. 
She was poor and always had been, but she was 
industrious and frugal, and she was appalled at the 
indolence and extravagance at the parsonage. The 
children were told to obey her, but they needed 
line upon line and precept upon precept in that 
direction. 

“Miss Sue, you had better not wear that dress; 
it is raining, and you will get it spoiled,” said Mrs. 
Jones one morning as Sue was starting out. 

Sue glanced at the clouds. “ It is not going to 
rain much. I hate to change, and I am only going 
to the corner.” 

She went on, and returned in a couple of hours. 
The dress was not injured, and Sue congratulated 
herself that she knew pretty well how to dress, and 
concluded that Mrs. Jones was rather fussy, and 
did not know much about clothes any way, while 
the housekeeper mentally resolved that she would 
not stay there if Miss Sue continued to set such a 
bad example before the younger children. One 
morning she saw Tom throwing up his ball in the 
front yard. “ Tom, do not play with your ball 
right there in the yard.” 

“ What is the reason? I have always played in 
the yard.” 


236 A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

“You will break the glass in some of the win- 
dows.” 

“ I never broke any yet; and if I do, you will 
not have to pay for it.” 

He went on playing, not intending to be rude; 
but he simply thought that she was borrowing un- 
necessary trouble, and that there was no danger 
of breaking the glass, and he told the truth when 
he said he was accustomed to playing there. He 
did not think of his disobedience, while Mrs. Jones 
thought of nothing else. 

“ Bell, do not take that cake.” 

“ I am hungry; I want something to eat.” 

“ Take some bread and butter.” 

“ I do not like bread and butter.” 

“ Then take bread and jelly.” 

“ I do not like bread and jelly.” 

“ I do not like so much eating between meals. 
If you are hungry, you can eat bread.” 

“ I do not want bread. May I have the cake?” 

Mrs. Jones was silent, and Bell construed the 
silence into an affirmative, and went out of the 
dining room openly eating the cake. 

Sue went into the sitting room one afternoon 
with her mind intent on business. “ Mrs. Jones, I 
need a new dress, and I should like to have it 
right away.” 

“You must ask your father about that.” 

“ We never asked him about our clothes. 
Mother always got them for us.” 

“She is gone now.” 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 237 

“ Yes, I know that; but if you tell papa I need 
it, he will give' you the money to get it.” 

“ You do not need it.” 

“ I have only got two that I can wear out of the 
house.” 

“ That is enough when you are wearing black.” 

“ No, it is not. Jennie Brown has four, and 
she is wearing black.” 

There is more money thrown away about this 
house than would keep many a family; but if your 
papa is willing, I do not care. I suppose you think 
it does not come off me.” 

“ Will you ask him ? ” 

“ No, I will not; you must ask him yourself.” 

“Then he will send me to you.” 

“ If he does, I will not oppose it.” 

Sue got her new dress and was happy; and then 
Bell wanted a new dress, and she got it; and 
Phebe wanted a new “ dess,” and she got it; and 
it was not long until they all got about what they 
wanted, and each did that which was right in his 
own eyes. Martin moved along, unconscious that 
all was not serene and just as it ought to be, 
while Mrs. Jones was nearly frantic. She con- 
sulted Mrs. Little. “ They just take the house. I 
cannot do a thing with them. I never saw such a 
set of young ones in my life.” 

“You ought to consult their father.” 

“ He does not seem to care what they do, so 
they keep out of his way.” 

“ His mind is on his work.” 


238 


A minister’s probation. 


“ His work ought to be to bring up his mother- 
less children in the way they should go.” 

“ He does not notice them.” 

“ He ought to notice them.” 

“ I do not see what I can do.” 

“You can hunt up somebody to take my place.” 

“You must not leave them. They cannot get 
along without you.” 

“ I cannot stand it. If Sue was worth a cent, 
she would take hold and make the little ones 
mind, but she is the worst of the lot.” 

“ Do not be in a hurry. I will see Mr. Martin.” 

Mrs. Little invited the pastor to supper, and 
after the meal was over she sent him into the par- 
lor, and soon followed. “ Mr. Martin, I do not 
want to interfere with your domestic affairs, but 
I promised Mrs. Jones to speak to you.” 

“ What about? ” 

“About the children. You know she never had 
any of her own, and she has never been used to 
them, and she cannot manage them.” 

“ She does very well.” 

“ I know she does the best she can, but she is 
tired and wants you to get some one to take her 
place and let her go home.” 

“ Whom can we get? ” 

Mrs. Little wanted to shake the man. “You 
cannot get anybody that will do as well as she 
does.” 

“ I dare say not; but if she wants to go, we will 
have to have some one.” 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 


239 


“ It would be better if you could persuade her to 
stay; she is not needed at home, and you will find 
it hard to get any one to take her place.” 

“ I will speak to her. Is she satisfied with her 
pay?” 

“ O yes, I think so; the children seem to be the 
trouble, and it might be well if you could spare 
them a little more of your time. They were no 
doubt spoiled a good deal at their grandmother’s 
while your wife was sick, and they do not under- 
derstand the necessity of obeying Mrs. Jones.” 

“O yes they do; you are mistaken there. I 
told them at the start that they must obey her.” 

“ Children have to be told again and again, and 
perhaps Mrs. Jones was not careful enough at first 
to exact obedience.” 

“ I do not know. I have always wanted them 
to obey her; and if they have not, I have not 
known it.” 

Mr. Martin spoke to Mrs. Jones at the breakfast 
table. “ Mrs. Little tells me that you have had 
trouble with the children. I am sorry about it. Do 
they not obey you ? ’ ’ 

“ We do not get along well together, and I 
think you had better get some one to take my 
place.” 

“ I do not know whom to get. Children, you 
must remember that I told you to obey Mrs. 
Jones.” 

‘‘We every one of us do just as we please,” 
replied Jim with evident pride. 


240 A minister’s probation. 

“Why, Jim! ” 

“ We do. * You can ask Sue. She cannot do a 
thing with one of us, unless it is Phebe.” 

“ I am astonished I ” 

“It is about the state of affairs,” said Mrs. 
Jones; and the subject was dropped for that time. 

A little later Mr. Martin called Sue to his study. 
“ What is the matter with Mrs. Jones? ” 

“Nothing, only she is old, and she expects us 
to be fifty or sixty. She does not want us to play, 
or go anywhere, or have any company, or enjoy 
ourselves at all.” 

“ Do you obey her? ” 

“No, we do not. She would like to have me 
sew carpet rags or piece quilts all the time I am 
out of school.” 

“You ought to acquire industrious habits.” 

“I do not like to sew.” 

“ How old are you? ” 

“I am fifteen. Why, papa I do you not know 
my age ? ” 

“Yes, but I did not think. You will soon be 
able to take charge of the house, and I wish we 
could keep Mrs. Jones a little longer.” 

“ We cannot, for she asked me to tell you that 
she is very anxious to get awa}^; but she will stay 
this week, until we can get some one else.” 

“ Why will she not stay indefinitely?” 

“ She does not like us children.” 

“ Do you like her? ” 

“ No, I do not. She has no get up about her, 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 24 1 

or she would not let us children do as we please, 
the way she does.” 

Martin decided that it would be best to make a 
change, and he pondered Mrs. Little’s suggestion 
that he give more time to his family. 

Mrs. Jones was succeeded by Miss Emily Har- 
vey, a lady of good family, who had never gone 
out to service, or done any work, except for her 
own family. She would not have taken charge of 
the kitchen at the parsonage and baked the bread 
or washed the dishes at any price. She was thir- 
ty-eight years old. Mrs. Martin had been dead a 
year, and when Miss Harvey became housekeeper 
the gossips hinted that she was setting her cap for 
the preacher. Her position was no sinecure. She 
made an effort to bring order out of the domestic 
chaos, but concluded it could not be done without 
getting the children all down on her, and she did 
not want to do that. She looked after the house- 
keeping and the sewing, and let the manners and 
morals take care of themselves. While she was 
wielding the scepter Mrs. Hood made the family a 
visit, and understood the situation at once. 

“ Brother Paul, how did it ever happen that you 
got Miss Harvey to keep house? ” 

“Mrs. Jones left us, and she seemed to be the 
only chance.” 

“ Can you not do better? ” 

“ I do not know that we can. Do you not like 
her? ” 

“ My liking has nothing to do with it. The 

16 


242 


A minister’s probation. 


children are running wild, and she has no restraint 
over them at all.” 

“That was the trouble with Mrs. Jones; she 
could not manage the children.” 

“Miss Harvey does not try, and I cannot bear to 
see Mary’s children brought up so, for they are in 
a fair way to be ruined.” 

“How?” 

“ By a want of proper discipline. Who governs 
them? To whom are they responsible for their 
actions? ” 

“To Miss Harvey.” 

“ She does not control them at all, and they are 
going to destruction as fast as they can.” 

“Why, Sue I ” 

“ Something must be done at once, or it will be 
too late. You must take them in hand yourself.” 

“ What must I do?” 

“You must govern them. You must give them 
something to do, and see that they do it.’ 

“You mean some kind of work? ” 

“ I mean that and everything else, for there is 
no order nor system about the house.” 

“ I am sorry.” 

“ Miss Harvey is not fit for her position.” 

“ Do you know any one that we could get that 
would do better? ” 

“ I do not know any one here, but Cousin Aman- 
da would just suit you if she would come.” 

“ You see her about it.” 

Mrs. Hood did see her as soon as she reached 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 


243 


home. Amanda Moore did not want to go, but she 
allowed herself to be persuaded to try, with the 
undertanding that she would not have to stay if it 
proved unpleasant. 

Miss Harvey received her as a guest. 

She told Martin that he must dismiss his present 
housekeeper before she could take charge. 

“ Can you not do it? ’’ 

“ Certainly not.” 

He summoned the lady to his study. “ Miss 
Harvey, we are all very much obliged to you for 
what you have done for us; but our cousin has 
come to live with us, and we will not need you any 
longer.” 

She was taken by surprise. “ Have I not given 
satisfaction ? ” 

“Yes,” hesitatingly. 

“ I do not like to be turned off.” 

“ We are not turning you off,” but Mrs. Hood 
thought that the children would mind Cousin 
Amanda better than they do you, and she can 
teach them much that they have not learned.” 

“ I knew that Hood woman was at the bottom 
of it.” 

“ She takes an interest in her sister’s chil- 
dren.” 

“And in you too. She knows that old, yellow, 
fifty-year-old woman will take care of you. I 
will get out of the way and give her a chance, and 
I hope you will get along.’ 

She had about given up all hopes of ever being 


244 ^ minister’s probation. 

anything more than she was in the parsonage, and 
did not care as much as she otherwise might have 
done. 

When she was gone Cousin Amanda took hold 
of the reins of the domestic affairs with a vim. 
“ Sue, you may take charge of the upstairs work.” 

‘‘Me?” 

“ Yes, you.” 

“ I cannot make a bed fit to be seen.” 

“ You are nearly sixteen years old. It is time 
you could, and you can learn.” 

“ I will make my own.” 

“ You will make the boys’ too.” 

“ Both beds? ” 

“ Yes, both beds, and keep their room in good 
order. Sweep and dust; you need not wait on 
them. Let them put away their own things.” 

Sue went to her brothers’ room and found Rob- 
ert there. 

“ I do not like the way Cousin Amanda is start- 
ing out.” 

‘ What has she done?” 

“ She says I have got to make both these beds 
and keep this room in order, for one thing.” 

“ That is all-right. ’ Get at it.” 

“ Suppose she makes you chop the wood and 
feed the cow ? ” 

“ She might do worse. Did it never occur to 
you that we are rather a useless set? We are not 
worth our salt.” 

“ We are able to live without working.” 


HOUSEKEEPERS. 245 

“I am going to get papa to send me to col- 
lege.’’ 

“What for?” 

“ I want to amount to something in the world. 
Aunt Sue said my own money would put me 
through.” 

“Aunt Sue is always meddling with us. She 
sent Cousin Amanda.” 

“ We needed her, and I only hope she will bring 
us around all right, for we have not had much 
training since mother died.” 

Robert went directly to his father. “Papa, 
may I go to college? ” 

“Wh}^, Robert ?” 

“If ever I am going to make anything of my- 
self, it is time to begin.” 

“ How old are you?” 

“I am nearly eighteen.” 

“How time does fly! I should like to have you 
go, but I do not know about the money.” 

“Aunt Sue says my own money will pay my 
way.” 

“You consulted her?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Did she approve of it?” 

“Yes, sir; she spoke of it first.” 

“ You can go.” 

“Thank you.” 

Robert went to college, and Sue took more inter- 
est in her studies than she had ever done before. 
Phebe was a meek, docile little creature who 


246 


A minister’s probation. 


made no trouble, but Tom and Jim and Bell were 
a terror to Cousin Amanda. 

When she had tried everything that she ever 
heard of, and everything she could think of, to no 
effect, she gave up the contest. She wrote to Mrs. 
Hood that she would not take a warranty deed for 
the congregation, and the preacher thrown into 
the bargain, and attempt to run that house much 
longer. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The Stepmother. 

When Cousin Amanda shook the parsonage 
dust off her feet they tried to get along without a 
housekeeper. Sue was about sixteen years old, 
and she left school and took upon her inexpe- 
rienced shoulders the care of her father’s house. 
That last evil was worse than any that had gone 
before. The housemaid refused to be “bossed 
around” by a bit of a girl like Sue Martin, and 
she left for more congenial surroundings. The 
sour bread, and the overdone and underdone veg- 
etables that they were obliged to eat, after that 
calamity, was enough to give them all the dys- 
pepsia. 

“ I wish I were dead ! ” 

That expression, coming from the lips of his eld- 
est daughter, startled Martin as he passed through 
the hall. He paused and looked into the kitchen, 
and saw her standing before a table, on which was 
placed a dishpan full of unwashed dishes. “What 
is the matter. Sue?” 

Her whole frame shook with sobs. “Papa, you 
are a preacher, and you pretend to be a Chris- 
tian, but I just say I would rather be dead, and 
go dowm to that awful hell you preach about, than 
to stay here.” 


( 247 ) 


24^ A MINISTER'S PROBATION. 

“ What is troubling you? ’’ 

“Just look at those dishes, and there is not a 
bed in the house made, and my head aches, and 
it is time to get dinner, and I just cannot do the 
work, and I have a notion to cut my throat.’’ 

“You must not talk that way; you know you 
have no such thoughts. I know it is hard on you, 
but we will get a girl as soon as we can.” 

“ We will never get a girl.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Because we will never find one fool enough to 
live here.” 

“We will try; we will do the best we can.” He 
started on, but was recalled. 

“ Papa ! ” 

“What?” 

“ If you would let me go and live some place 
else, you might get a girl, for they do not like to 
live where there is no woman, and where a girl like 
themselves is running things.” 

“ That will not do.” 

The pastor was more troubled about his domes- 
tic affairs than he had ever been before. He was 
worried and greatly distressed. Sue wishing 
she were dead, and wanting to get away from 
her home, shocked him, and he knew not 
what to do. He repaired to his study, and sat 
down to think. He concluded that Sue’s asser- 
tion that girls do not like to live where there is no 
woman, and where another girl is in charge, was 
probably correct, and that he would try to get anoth- 


The stepmother. 249 

er housekeeper. In the afternoon he walked over to 
Elder Patterson’s, in the hope that the good woman 
of that house might know of some one who would 
consent to help them in their extremity. He was 
ushered into the parlor, and Mrs. Patterson re- 
ceived him kindly, and, turning to a stranger, pre- 
sented him to Miss Miller. He was sorry he had 
called, for he could not discuss the cooking and 
the dish washing of his kitchen before that woman ; 
but he took the offered chair, thinking that she 
might go soon, and found that she was visiting in 
the family. In a short time he was in the midst of 
an animated conversation, and he found himself 
wondering where she was from, and almost wish- 
ing she was poor enough to go out as a house- 
keeper. He accepted an invitation to supper, and 
enjoyed the well-cooked meal, and as he left he 
said to Mrs. Patterson; “I wanted to see you; I 
shall call again.” 

“All right. I shall be glad to see you.” 

He called in a day or two, and was rejoiced to 
hear that Mrs. Patterson knew of a housekeeper, 
for she had been looking for one for him, and 
Mrs. Stone had expressed a willingness to take 
charge of the house if he would put a good girl in 
the kitchen, and Jane Green would be glad of that 
place. 

Martin expressed his thanks. 

“Mr. Martin, there is something I should like 
to tell you.” 

“What is it?” 


250 A minister’s probation. 

“Perhaps you would be offended, but it is this: 
what you need more than anything else is a good 
wife.” 

“ I had not thought of that.” 

“ You can think of it now. Your children need 
a good mother badly, and you will never have 
much comfort until you marry again.” 

Mrs. Stone and Jane Green were installed in 
their respective places in a few days, and Sue re- 
turned to school. 

Martin called at Mrs. Patterson’s again, to ex- 
press his gratitude, and again he stayed for sup- 
per, and before leaving he managed to have a few" 
words with his hostess. “ How long is Miss Mil- 
ler going to stay?” 

“ I think she will be here two or three weeks 
yet.” 

“ Where does she live?” 

“ In Xenia.” Then Mrs. Patterson asked mis- 
chievously: “ Do you like her?” 

“ Very much.” 

“You know where we live; make hay while the 
sun shines.” 

Mrs. Patterson was delighted, for she knew 
Elizabeth Miller would not have an old widower, 
fifty years of age, with six spoiled children; but 
she would get him started, and he would find some- 
body who would accept the responsibility for the 
sake of the shelter. 

Martin called every day, and the sun seemed to 
shine on his hay. Miss Miller, who was an orphan 


THE STEPMOTHER. 25 1 

and lived with her brother, protracted her visit 
several weeks. 

The Pattersons enjoyed the situation very much. 
They did not think it quite right for Lizzie to flirt 
so with an old widower, and a preacher at that; 
but they did not suppose he would be hurt, and it 
was such fun, for he was in such earnest. When 
she went home she was engaged to take charge 
of the housekeeping at the parsonage, and before 
starting she told Mrs. Patterson. That lady was 
as indignant as she was surprised. 

“You silly girl! He is over fifty years old.” 

“ He is only forty-seven, and I am thirty-two 
myself.” 

“ His children are not half civilized.” 

“I will civilize them.” 

“You will rue the day you met him.” 

“You introduced us.” 

“ I did not know you were a fool.” 

“ Thank you.” 

There was no one who had any right to control 
the lady, and she went back to Urbana in due 
course of time as the minister’s wife. 

No one who understood the situation envied her. 
Mrs. Stone was perhaps the most delighted w^oman 
in the congregation, for it gave her a chance to 
get out of her position, which was fast becoming 
unbearable. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Martin took notes at first, and, 
although she saw everything and thought a good 
deal, she said but little. Robert was away from 


252 A minister's probation. 

home at college, and Sue was in a young ladies’ 
day school, while Tom, Bell, and Jim attended 
the same private school. Mrs. Martin assumed 
the reins of government graduall}", and she was 
careful to issue requests rather than commands 
when she spoke to Sue or Tom. She talked with 
Sue about her studies, and helped her with her 
music. 

“ It is very mudd3^ You had better wear your 
rubbers,” she said one morning as Sue was 
starting to school. 

Sue went on, and as she opened the gate Bell 
shouted: “She said you have got to put your 
rubbers on.” 

Sue went back slowly. “ I hate so to wear 
rubbers.” 

“You need not wear them if you do not want 
to; I simply made a suggestion. I do not intend 
to assume much authority with you, for I think 
you are old enough to begin to govern yourself.” 

“ It is all right; I will put them on.” She went 
up to her room and returned with them on. 

The next Saturday morning Jim tied a string 
around the neck of the cat, and, after running 
around the yard with it until it was tired, he finally 
adjourned to the hall with the wet, frightened ani- 
mal mewing piteously. 

“ Jim, let that cat go.” 

“ It is not your cat.” 

“Let it go.” 

“ I won’t do it.” 


THE STEPMOTHER. 


253 


Mrs. Martin advanced a few steps, and, releasing 
the cat from his grasp, she untied the string and it 
bounded away. Seizing Jim’s arm, she started 
with him to the sitting room. 

“Let me be.” 

“ I want you.” 

“ You ain’t boss here. This ain’t your house.” 

“ It is your father’s house, and I am his wife.” 

“ It ain’t, either; it belongs to us children, and 
we will put you both out if you don’t behave your- 
self.” 

“ We’ll see about that.” 

She took him to her own room, and he was out 
of sight and hearing for several hours. The trans- 
action was witnessed by the other children, and 
Bell, who regarded it as a tragedy, felt that Aunt 
Sue must know about it, so she went to her father’s 
study and got paper and a pencil, and sat down 
under his eyes and wrote the following, which he 
sealed and addressed and mailed for her: 

Dear Aunt Stic, Our step mother is just awful she most 
killed Jim today her got him locked up some place now he 
sassed her back and told her this is our house and we will put 
them out if she is bad i guess her will go when she gets her 
clothes ready i guess papa will not go cause he always lived 
here i am ten years old next week but i did not write for a 
present i wanted to tell you the awfull times we have 

your loving niece, Bell Martin. 

Mrs. Hood drew a long breath when she re^d 
the letter. She knew that Martin did not know 
its contents or he would not have mailed it, and she 
wondered what manner of man he was. She 


254 ^ minister’s probation. 

hoped that the stepmother was endowed with more 
than the average of judgment, good sense, and 
discretion. She answered the letter without any 
allusion to the “awful times,” and sent a birthday 
present. 

Mrs. Martin had her hands full. She began with 
the house, which looked as if it had just passed 
through a siege. Carpets were worn, and there 
was scarcely a decent sheet or tablecloth in the 
house, and not enough dishes to set the table for 
the family. Martin had plenty of money, and he 
gave her the funds to refurnish according to 
her own taste, and things soon began to wear a 
better aspect. One evening as Tom passed through 
the hall dressed ready to go out he was met 
with the question: “Tom, are those your best 
clothes? ” 

“Yes.” 

“You ought to have a new suit.” 

“ I agree with you there.” 

Vanity was not Tom’s weak point, and he had 
not thought about getting new clothing. 

A few days later he said: “What kind of a 
suit would you advise a fellow to get?” 

“ O, something nice, and stylish, and becoming, 
and serviceable, and so forth, and so on.” 

“ I was looking at suits at Henry’s to-day.” 

“ Does not your father select your clothes? ” 

“ No, mother always saw to that.” 

“I will take a peep at Henry’s the first time I 
^m down town,’’ 


THE STEPMOTHER. 


255 


When Tom went back the merchant said: 
“Here is a suit your stepmother picked out. She 
said to tell you to look at it, and if you liked it to 
try it on.” 

It was a good fit and was sent home, and Tom 
was a better boy after that. When Robert came 
home in vacation he hardly knew the place, and 
when alone with Sue for the first time he ex- 
pressed his approbation. “ This is something like 
living. We have got to live like folks.” 

“Yes, we do live better than we did. Mother 
is very particular.” 

“ She ought to be. I tell you, I rather dreaded 
coming home.” 

“Why?” 

“ It was awful when I went away, and it seemed 
as if I had got to heaven when I got into a good 
boarding place.” 

“ I rather hated having a stepmother.” 

“ I did not, for I knew it could not be any 
worse than it was.” 

“You do not have to stay at home.” 

“ Is it not an improvement on the old life? ” 

“Yes, I suppose it is.” 

Jim came bounding in. “ Bob, do you like our 
stepmother? ” 

“Yes. Do you? ” 

“ Not much.” 

“Why not?” 

“ She makes a fellow mind.” 

“ That is what she is here for.” 


256 A minister’s probation. 

“ She has no business here.” 

“She has no business anywhere else.” 

Bob’s approval of the stepmother helped matters 
wonderfully. His appreciation of the good she 
had done in his father’s household was evident in 
his treatment of her. The younger children had 
rather depended on him to take her down, and 
when he disappointed their expectations in that he 
sat at her feet they gave up the unequal contest. 
When the stepmother had been two 3^ears in the 
parsonage Mrs. Hood made another visit. Her 
quick eyes were not slow to discern that there was 
a master hand at the helm, and the ladies became 
fast friends. They discussed the children, and 
Mrs. Hood led the discussion on to the family 
finances. She had been Martin’s prime minister 
so many years that she resolved to arrange one 
more little matter for him before resigning her po- 
sition. She went to his study for that purpose. 

“ Brother Paul, you have got a jewel of a wife. 
I congratulate you.” 

“ Thank you. I am glad you like her. We get 
along very comfortably.” 

“ I want to talk to you about money matters.” 
“Well.” 

“Are you living on your salary or your private 
means? ” 

“Both.” 

“ I supposed so. Has your wife anything of her 
own? ” 


“ Not that I know of.” 


THE STEPMOTHER. 257 

‘‘ That is what I want to talk about. You should 
make some provision for her.” 

“ She has what she wants.” 

“ She has now, but, Paul, did it ever occur to 
you that sometime you will die, or do you expect 
other people to do all the dying?” 

“ I expect to die.” 

“ If your wife lives longer than you do, what 
will become of her?” 

“ They can live on here as they are doing now.” 

“ Perhaps ; you know you only have a life interest 
in this; when you die it belongs to the children.” 

“ Is that so?” 

She felt like pinching him to wake him up. 
“ Yes, it is so, and your wife may take her baby 
and go out washing.” 

“ O no.” 

“ That is about the amount of it.” 

“What can I do?” 

“You can live on your money and save your 
salary, and invest it in her name.” 

“ So I can.” 

He went to work as usual, and did as Mrs. Sue 
Hood advised, and he consulted her in regard to 
proper investments, and in a few years his wife 
was in no danger of being in want. She looked 
well to the ways of her household, and her husband 
safely trusted her. When his first wife’s children 
were men and women they had no better friend 
than their stepmother, 

17 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Preachers’ Children. 

Notwithstanding the proverb that ministers’ 
children are worse than ordinary mortals, the 
Martins all turned out well. Robert graduated in 
college, and although he did not take the valedicto- 
ry as his father had done, he maintained that the 
reason was that it was not the same institution of 
learning. He entertained his audience on his 
Commencement day with a very creditable ora- 
tion on a subject of his own selection, “On the 
Threshold.” He studied law, and when admitted 
to the bar he soon rose to prominence and became 
a credit to his profession. 

He fell desperately in love with a young lady 
while in school. She reciprocated his passion, 
and they were engaged. In a short time they had 
a falling out about some trifle, and she punished 
herself, and no doubt thought that she spited Bob, 
when she married a thoughtless youth*, without 
any visible means of support, and destitute of a 
trade, profession, or even good business habits. 
Robert forgave her, and went to her wedding un- 
der the impression that his life would be one of 
celibacy. 

All too soon Cupid fired another dart which 
went straight to his heart, and he poured out his 
( 258 ) 


preachers’ children. 


259 


soul in sonnets and odes to the one he delighted to 
honor. But it was of no use; she turned a deaf 
ear to his love and eloquence and poetry, and told 
him to give his time and attention to his books, 
which was good advice, and he forever after held 
her in grateful remembrance. 

When he worshiped at a third shrine, and was 
told that he was soaring too high, he was used to 
it, and was but little hurt. 

When he had become settled in his profession, 
and had acquired a good practice, he met a bright- 
eyed little country girl, who took him captive on 
first sight, and he wooed and won her, with the ap- 
probation of the friends on both sides, and she 
made him a happy home, and they went through 
life hand in hand and heart answering to heart, 
neither sighing for a more perfect love or for any- 
thing that might have been. 

Sue dreamed much of a “ mission.” She want- 
ed to do some geat thing, and too often neglected 
the little things that she might have done. She 
spent much time in visiting the poor, and, while 
she was truly sorry for them, it never entered her 
wise little head to sew on a button, or to teach 
them to do it for themselves. She taught a class 
in the Sabbath school, and never neglected to re- 
mind the members of it of their duty toward the 
poor heathen in China and Japan, and it was 
prophesied that she would marry a preacher and 
go to some foreign land as a missionary. 

The young preachers who visited at her father’s 


26 o a minister’s probation. 

house all admired her, and some of them paid her 
marked attention; but if any of them ever asked 
her to preside ■ over another parsonage, she de- 
clined the honor, doubtless with thanks. 

When she was twenty years old she embraced 
an opportunity to visit her father’s relatives in 
Pennsylvania, and at the pleasant home of her 
Uncle Tom she met her fate. Her hero was just 
a common farmer, and her sister Bell thought the 
family would be forever disgraced if Sue stooped 
so low as to marry the fellow. 

Tom wrote to his brother, and he immediately 
gave his fatherly blessing, stipulating that she 
should return home and have her marriage cele- 
brated there. 

When the appointed time came, and brought 
the Pennsylvania guests, the prospective bride had 
no occasion to blush for the man who was so soon 
to become her husband. Mrs. Hood’s verdict 
was: “I am very much pleased with him. He is 
very intelligent and a good talker.” 

Even aristocratic Bell admitted: “If he is as 
good as he looks, he will do.” 

Martin refused to perform the ceremony which 
took his oldest daughter from his protecting care 
and placed her in a new home among other asso- 
ciations, but, having become personally acquaint- 
ed with the man who had secured the first place in 
her affections, he was content. 

Tom developed a marked taste for trade. When 
quite a small boy he was always trading in mar- 


preachers’ children. 


261 


bles, tops, and knives, and, it must be admitted, 
he generally got the better of the bargain. He did 
not like school, and did not see much use in any 
of the studies in an ordinary curriculum, except 
arithmetic. He never had any trouble with the 
multiplication table, and when he got “ through the 
book ■’ he would have been pleased to consider his 
education finished. He entertained a profound 
respect for his stepmother, and appealed to her to 
persuade his father to let him leave school. 

“ What do you want to do?’’ she asked. 

“ I do not know, but I am tired of school.” 

“You do not want to leave school and simply 
loaf around?” 

“O no, I will do anything to get to quit that 
everlasting old school.” 

“ I sympathize with you, Tom. I do not mind 
telling you I never liked going to school very 
well myself, but my advice is to put your mind on 
your books while you do go, and choose some 
vocation in life, and then prepare for that.” 

“The trouble is I do not know what to choose. 
I do not want to learn a trade. I want some kind 
of business.” 

“ Should you like to deal in dry goods?” 

“No, I hardly think I should.” 

“ Groceries ? ” 

“No, I don’t know what I want.” 

They both laughed, and a decision was put off 
until a more convenient time. One morning he 
heard Mr. Cornell, who kept a hardware store, ask 


262 A minister’s probation. 

a man if he knew of a good, trusty boy, whom he 
could get to stay in his store while he went to Cin- 
cinnati. The man did not, and Tom immediately 
offered his services. Mr. Martin consented, and 
Tom was elated, but it did not prove to be as much 
fun as he had anticipated, and he experienced a 
feeling of relief when Mr. Cornell got back, and 
retired with the conviction that hardware was not 
in his line of business. He wanted to buy low and 
sell high, and 3^et he could not bear the idea of 
measuring calico or weighing sugar. 

“ Tom, would you like to go to Cincinnati? ” 

“ I shouldn’t object.” 

“ How old are you? ” 

Going on forty.” 

“ None of your nonsense,” replied Mr. Cornell, 
“ I mean business.” 

“ I was eighteen three weeks ago.” 

Tom was sent to Cincinnati on a commission 
that was not a very important one. It was of so 
little importance that Mr. Cornell concluded that 
it would be to his interest to reverse the order of 
the programme this time, stay in the store him- 
self, and send Tom. That was before the days of 
commercial travelers, or there would have been no 
need of the trip at all. Tom transacted the busi- 
ness to his own satisfaction and, as it afterwards 
proved, to the satisfaction of Mr. Cornell. 

The firm was pleased with the straighforward 
boy that had been sent to them by their customer 
in Urbana. In answer to a question he told them 


PREACHERS^ CHILDREN. 263 

he was a son of the Presbyterian minister. The 
senior member took him to lunch with him. 

“What kind of a place is that?” 

“They sell machinery.” 

As they returned he said: “I like the looks of 
that place.” 

“ I shall send you to see it.” 

“ Thank you.” 

When they reached their place of business, Mr. 
Foster called a clerk. “Take Mr. Martin and 
show him over Lane & Gormley’s.” 

“The machinists?” 

“Yes.” 

Tom found his work, and when he reached 
home he knew what he wanted to do, and it was 
to sell machinery. A place was obtained for him 
at the bottom of the ladder, and he worked his way 
up. When he went into business for himself, he 
moved to Chicago, and became an active partner 
in a lucrative business which extended all over the 
country. 

Bell was the lady of the family. She never was 
half as anxious to DO as she was to BE. She be- 
came engaged to a stranger, whom she regarded 
as a prince in disguise. Some one noticed how 
the wind was blowing, and cautioned her sleepy 
father; and when he woke up he became very 
wide-awake, as he always did. The would-be 
lover was investigated, and his antecedents were 
found to be exceedingly doubtful, and as he had 
neither home nor friends; and his means were in 


264 A minister’s probation. 

his pocket, and he kept his past record in the back- 
ground, he was given an emphatic dismissal, and 
Bell was given a visit to her Aunt Sue, in Ashland, 
where she met another prince or two, but they 
were not considered dangerous and were given no 
attention. She actually fell in love with a lawyer 
in Urbana after her return, with whom she had 
played from childhood, and married him. He was 
good enough for her, and perhaps her ambition 
was realized when he was elected to Congress and 
took her to Washington. If she had outgrown it 
during the years that had passed, enough of it had 
descended to her daughter Sue to make their res- 
idence in the capital a desirable episode in the 
family life. 

Jim wanted to travel. He did not want to DO 
as much as he wanted to GO. It must have been 
such as he that originated the commercial travel- 
ing system. He went to Pennsylvania to see his 
“ relations,” and went to Ashland repeatedly to 
see his Uncle Jim, and he went to Cincinnati to 
see Tom. He was not any more affectionate in 
his disposition than any other member of the fami- 
ly, but he simply wanted to go, and was never so 
happy as when he was going to some place unless 
it was when he was coming back. He went to 
California at an early age, to seek his fortune, and 
he found it, or at least enough to take him from 
there to South America. He wrote home from 
Australia, but the letter was so long on the briny 
deep that the family were not sure about his ad- 


preachers’ children. 265 

dress, although they risked the necessary postage 
in an attempt to let him hear from the loved ones 
left behind. He went into the tea business, and, 
having accumulated another fortune, he sent Phebe 
some handsome diamonds to remember him by, 
and went on an extended tour to Jerusalem and 
the Holy Land. Thanks to his early training, he 
lived a pure, upright life throughout all his wan- 
derings, and when at last he became homesick he 
returned to the scenes of his childhood, when he 
was a little past forty years old, with means enough 
to procure a cozy home, and surrounded with a 
halo of glory on account of his adventures. He 
went into farming and stock raising, persuad- 
ed a nice little girl to marry him, and was 
a hundred thousand times happier than he de- 
served to be. 

Phebe, the meek, gentle little girl, who obeyed 
all the housekeepers, even to Mrs. Jones, proved 
to be the greatest trial of any of the family. She 
wanted to go on the stage. She was a member of 
the Church, and partook of the holy communion 
regularly, and she could not be made to see any 
inconsistency between her profession and the 
theater. She fostered her tastes by taking part 
in all the tableaux and exhibitions that were given 
by the schools, and also by the churches for char- 
itable purposes. She could not discriminate be- 
tween a little home-made theater, with a ten-cent 
admittance for the benefit of a destitute Sabbath 
school, and the real article, with an admittance of 


266 


A minister’s probation. 


a dollar, as a matter of business. Martin had to 
be waked up again, and she resigned to parental 
authority the cherished desire of her heart. She 
did not marry, and when she died at the early age 
of thirty years there was a vague notion in the 
family that Phebe was an unlucky name. 

The oldest child of Mrs. Elizabeth Martin mar- 
ried a minister and went with him to a pastorate in 
Chicago, where his services were undoubtedly 
needed. They told her that if they had known 
she was starting off on a husband-hunting expedi- 
tion, when she went to visit her brother Tom, they 
would have kept her at home. Her mother re- 
membered the past, and wisely held her peace. 

The other child followed in the footsteps of his ' 
honored father. He lived to preach the gospel in 
foreign lands, and, though the youngest born, he 
was not the least in his father’s house. Eight 
children rose up and called Martin “blessed.” 
They were trained up in the way they ought to go, 
and when they were old not one of them depart- 
ed from that way. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 
The Probation Ended. 

Among the many improvements made in the 
thriving little city of Urbana was a new cemetery. 
The custom of burying the dead in a yard set apart 
for that purpose adjoining the church was aban- 
doned, and suitable grounds were purchased on 
an eminence and converted into a city of the dead. 
The remains of many who had lain in the grave 
for years were raised and reinterred, partly that 
the old grounds might be used for other pur- 
poses, and partly from a sentimental idea that, when 
the last trumpet shall sound, those buried side by 
side shall come up out of their graves together, 
and be forever reunited. 

Elder Little went the way of all the earth, and 
the body he no longer needed was buried in the 
new cemetery. Martin conducted the services in 
the home of the departed, and at the close an an- 
nouncement was made that the books would be on 
the grounds and selections of burial lots might be 
made and purchased. A slip of paper containing 
the number of the lot, fastened to a stake which 
was driven into the ground, facilitated the sale. 
After the interment the people scattered around and 
inspected the new cemetery. The death of Elder 
Little cast a feeling of depression over them, and 

( 267 ) 


268 A minister’s probation. 

many bought lots who perhaps would not have done 
so had they happened there under other circum- 
stances. Martin joined Mr. Melo3^and Elder Pat- 
terson, who were talking under the shade of a large 
oak tree. 

“ I think,” said he, “ that when I am done with 
this world I should like to lie just here;” and he 
placed his hand on a small shrub which had 
been used instead of a stake to number the lot. 

“ Have you got a lot? ” inquired Mr. Meloy. 

“ No, we have not.” 

“You ought to have. Every man ought to make 
his will and own a lot in the cemetery.” 

“ I have no property to dispose of. I do not 
need to make a will, but I can buy a lot. Lend me 
a pencil, please, to write the number. I will take 
this one.” 

“ Had you not better look around first?” 

“ I have looked around, and I have taken a no- 
tion to this.” 

He took the number, Block H, No. 74, and 
walked off. 

A few minutes after, his wife drove up in the 
carriage. “Have you seen Mr. Martin?” 

“ He left here about five minutes ago.” 

She looked around. “What a lovely spot! ” 

“ Mr. Martin spoke of buying that lot.” 

“ Which one ? ” 

“ Number 74.” 

“ It looks restful, but I hope we won’t need it.” 
She drove on. 


THE PROBATION ENDED. 


269 

Meloy and Patterson went to the Secretary’s 
desk and made the following entry : “Lot No. 74, 
Block H, Rev. Paul Martin. Presented by a few 
friends.” 

When Mrs. Martin found her husband they 
drove back and looked at the place together, and, 
having decided to buy it, they drove past the Sec- 
retary’s desk on their way home, and found that 
they had been anticipated. 

One raw March morning the next spring Mrs. 
Martin took her usual place at the head of the ta- 
ble, saying: “Your father will not be out to break- 
fast. He is sick.” 

“Is he bad?” inquired Phebe. 

“No, I think not. You can go in and see him 
after you eat your breakfast.” 

“It is nothing but a cold,” he asserted. “I 
will get up after dinner.” 

He became worse. 

“I am getting old, and I cannot stand what I 
used to. I cannot throw it off,” he explained. 

His wife sent for the doctor, and he seemed 
alarmed. “Have you ever been sick much?” he 
inquired. 

“No, I have not been sick for years.” 

“How long have you been in Urbana?” 

“About twenty-seven years.” 

“ That is certainly long enough to be acclimated. 
How old are you?” 

“ I am sixty-two.” 

The doctor prepared some medicines, and as he 


270 A minister’s probation. 

left he gave Mrs. Martin a look which bade her 
follow him. 

She waited to hear what he wished to say. 

“ I am sorry to tell you, but it is a serious 
case.” 

“What is the trouble?” 

“ It is a bad case of pneumonia.” 

“Is not that something new?” 

“Yes, or rather a new name for an old disease. 
It is about the same thing as lung fever.” 

“Is he dangerously sick?” 

“I am afraid that he is. I shall come and see 
him again in an hour or two, and bring Dr. Snow. 
I don’t want the responsibility all on my shoulders. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Martin turned and met the blanched face 
of Phebe, who had been listening at her back, and 
had heard every word. 

She drew her into the sitting room. “ Com- 
pose yourself, Phebe. We must work; we have 
no time for tears.” 

“What can we do?” 

“We must take care of your father, and save 
him if we can. Come to his room. We will make 
him as comfortable as possible, and you can stay 
with him while I write some dispatches.” 

Jim had gone to Chicago to see Tom, and the 
same dispatch brought both of them. 

Robert and Sue were summoned, and the next- 
door neighbor who took the dispatches to the 
office called at Bell’s residence with the distress- 
ing news. 


THE PROBATION ENDED. 


271 


Sue was the last to reach home, but they were 
all there in time. 

Martin was a very sick man from the first, but 
he was conscious and rational throughout his ill- 
ness. One night Robert watched alone with his 
father a few hours, while the family tried to get a 
little of the rest they so much needed. 

“Robert!” 

“Do you want anything, father? ” 

“Yes, I want to talk to you.” 

“You are too weak to talk much.” 

“I know I am weak, but will I ever be any 
stronger? ” 

“ We hope so.” 

“ Tell me the truth. Does the doctor say I am 
going to die ? ” 

“ He considers you in a critical condition, but 
he has not said that you cannot recover.” 

“I do not think I will. I think my work is 
about done.” 

“You must not give up.” 

“It is easy to give up. I do not seem to have 
any hold on life. It must be that my time has 
come.” 

“You had better not talk any more, father; it 
hurts you.” 

“No, it does not hurt me; it relieves me. 
When I was a young man I was very sick, lower 
than I am now. I had passed through a great 
trouble, and I should rather have died than have 
lived.” 


272 A minister’s probation. 

He paused, and Robert gave him a quieting 
draught that the doctor had left to be administered 
in case it was needed. 

He remained quiet for half an hour, and Robert 
thought he was sleeping. Suddenly he said: “ It 
was impossible to die. I had a work to do. I 
think it is done now. I am not anxious to die. I 
enjoy life, but I am willing to give it up. I should 
like to see your Aunt Sue.” 

“ We can send for her.” 

“ It is hardly worth while.” 

Robert went and waked Tom, who took a mes- 
sage for Mrs. Hood. She was in poor health, 
and they had decided not to send for her when 
the matter had been mentioned. 

The congregation of which Martin was pastor 
held a special prayer meeting instead of the regu- 
lar services on the Sabbath. They besought the 
throne of grace in behalf of him who went in and 
out before them and broke for them the bread of 
life. 

An electric thrill passed through the congrega- 
tion as one man prayed: “ O Lord, thou knowest 
that our dear pastor is sick unto death. Thou 
knowest that he baptized me when an infant. 
Thou knowest that he united me to the woman of 
my choice in the holy bonds of matrimony. Thou 
knowest that he baptized our firstborn. And 
now, our Father in heaven, we ask thee, in the 
name of the dear Son, wilt thou not spare him 
unto us a little longer?” 


THE PROBATION ENDED. 273 

God knew best. 

When Mrs. Hood reached the parsonage his life 
could be counted by hours. He was glad to see 
her: “Why, Sue! I didn’t know they had sent 
for you.” 

“Yes, they sent for me. I am sorry to see you 
so sick.” 

“ I am pretty low. I understand it. I am going 
home.” 

“ I am so glad it is ‘ going home ’ for you.” 

“ O yes, it surely is, and I wanted to see you. 
Have you any word to send to Mary? ” 

Mrs. Hood was so taken by surprise that she did 
not know what to say. Although a minister, he had 
never talked much to her on the subject of death 
or the future life. She remembered that she had 
often heard it said in Ashland that Martin was such 
a good pastor, and so tender and considerate and 
helpful in sickness and death. “ I hardly know,” 
she replied. “I am getting to be an old woman. 
You can tell her that it will not be long until I too 
shall go.” 

“ We shall keep a lookout for you. I am glad 
you came. I can tell father and mother and Mary 
that I saw you, and that you were all right.” 

They were all sobbing around his bed. “What 
are you all crying about? ” he asked. 

“Because you are so sick,” replied Phebe. 

“ I am not dying. I wish you wouldn’t cry so; 
it makes me nervous.” 

Some of them passed out of the room, and the 
18 


274 ^ minister’s probation. 

rest restrained their tears. He lay with his eyes 
wide open, as if thinking, and his thoughts went 
back to his youth. Presently he exclaimed : “ Life 
is a probation, from the cradle to the grave.” 

“Do not talk so much, father; you will wear 
yourself out,” suggested Sue. 

“ No, I will not. It does not matter now. It is 
just about so long.” 

“ What is about so long?” 

“ My life. The doctor will come pretty soon', 
and feel my pulse, and tell you that there will be a 
change about the middle of the night or in the 
morning.” 

“O father, please do not talk.” 

“ It does not hurt me. I like to talk.” 

He was quiet again, and slept a little. The doc- 
tor did come in an hour or so. 

“How is he?” inquired Robert. 

“ He is very low,” replied the doctor. 

He was given some medicine, and the doctor 
suggested that the family retire and give him a 
chance to sleep. His brother Tom, who had come 
with Sue, and Jim watched with him. 

“Tom!” 

He was at the bed in an instant. ‘ ‘ What is it ? ” 

“ You do not expect Phebe will care, do you?” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean Phebe Fergus. I have been thinking 
about old times. She will not care that I married 
Mary?” 

Tom was dumfounded. He was glad that Mrs. 


THE PROBATION ENDED. 275 

Martin and Mrs. Hood were not in the room to 
hear the reminiscence. 

“ Why do you not tell me? Do you think she , 
will care ? ” 

“ O no, of course not.’’ 

“ I have been very happy, but I do not want her 
to feel bad.” 

“ She will not care. She understands it.” 

“ If it had been me that died, do you think she 
would have married? ” 

“ I expect she would.” 

“ I am glad of that.” 

Again he was quiet, and then he slept. Morn- 
ning dawned without any particular change. 
Robert stayed with him while the rest breakfasted. 
The sick man looked up surprised. “ Fm going 
now.” 

Robert stepped across the hall to the dining room 
and, beckoning them to come, was back in a mo- 
ment. “Father, are you worse?” 

“ No, but the change is about here.” 

They all came in. His wife knelt beside the 
bed, and his eight children all stood around it. 
His brother Tom and Mrs. Hood stood together a 
little behind the circle. The doctor came in and, 
advancing to the bed, felt the sinking man’s pulse. 

“Is he dying? ” 

“Yes.” 

There was nothing more that he could do. He 
stepped back and, with the rest, looked on. Mar- 
tin could not get his breath. “ Raise his head a 


276 


A minister’s probation. 


little,” suggested the doctor. Robert and Sue ad- 
justed the pillows. A look .of pleased surprise 
spread over his countenance. 

“ Why, Phebe ! ” 

The minister’s probation was ended. 


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